


Brother Mine

by firefright



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Amnesia, Attempted Murder, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Gen, Mystery, Sabotage, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dick returned to the Team and the Watchtower to rejoin them in their fight against The Light, he expected some surprises along the way. But his supposedly dead brother crashing in through a Zeta tube on his first night back? That wasn’t one of them. </p><p>Now he’s left trying to solve the mystery of how Jason’s alive, why he’s back, and most importantly, if there’s anything sinister behind his return. A mystery that’s made even more complicated when it becomes clear that - even though he’s alive - Jason’s mind may have been irreparably fractured by what the Joker did to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this one I didn't intend to start posting until I'd completed at least one of my current in-progress stories, but since I have nothing else ready at the moment for various reasons you guys are getting the first chapter this week. XD 
> 
> Originally this story was going to be my DCU Bang fic, until the plot grew to such a length I realised I wouldn't be able to finish the rough draft in time for the deadline. I always wanted to do a story focused around catatonic Jason, and after completing a rewatch of Young Justice the idea just sprang into being. I also have another two chapters more or less ready to go up after this one, so please enjoy!

_Run_.

The streets are cold and wet beneath the boy’s feet, while above him the thunder rumbles and lightning crashes through the sky. It's raining: he's soaked to the bone, cold and utterly alone as he hurtles through dark streets and alleyways, chasing a feeling of familiarity; a nodding urge that tells him exactly where to go.

Left. Right. Past a store with a glowing sign; words he remembers like a fading shadow in the back of his mind. Turn here, right again, down past the back of a bar where the warmth and the sound of voices raised in exuberant conversation filter out in the dark night like a siren song, beckoning him to join them. But instead he ducks away from the sound and keeps on running.

He doesn't know where the knowledge comes from, or what drives it so powerfully. The same as he doesn't understand the origin of the feeling of dread that nips at his heels - spurred by the sound of laughter - and drives him to push himself harder and faster with every step he takes, until his lungs are burning in his chest and his limbs ache in protest, threatening to give way beneath him. All he knows is that he has to keep going, keep _running_ until he reaches his destination.

And run he does, sprinting into the next dirty alley like a hare before a hound.

A bum in a torn army jacket calls out to him as he darts past an overflowing dumpster, then swears when he splashes through the large puddle nearby, dousing the old man in filthy water. He hears the sound of something thrown in his direction: glass breaking, and there's another thought spearing through his head as he dodges to one side with a motion that comes to him as naturally as breathing, an urge to -

 _Turn. Fight. Punish_.

\- that almost distracts him from his goal. And his fear. But the moment his feet start to slow, skidding across wet pavement, the pounding terror rears back to the forefront of his mind and pushes him forwards again.

There is _something_ \- something he has to get away from. Some monster with a mind to put his throat in its laughing jaws. That did put his throat in - his head, no, his _head_ and the teeth were made of metal, swinging back and forth, lashing into him with merciless brutality.

He doesn't remember much, about the world or himself. He lives in sensation, an existence formed on base desires: hunger, thirst and the desperate urge to keep on living. Nothing more than that. But sometimes… sometimes he thinks there was _more_. And when he concentrates, in the quietest, darkest parts of the night, he's sure of it. More than that, on the nights when a beam of light breaks through the darkness, cutting through the sky above the city, he almost thinks he can remember what it was, and yet -

 _Run_.

The thought fizzles, dies as if it never was. He knows what he has to do, and what will happen if he doesn't do it. A final turn takes him down an alley that's more familiar than any other, and at its end is a telephone booth that he knows with a sudden inexplicable certainty is his goal.

Without hesitation the boy stumbles the last few feet to open the booth and throws himself inside it, ignoring the large sign strung across the front proclaiming the phone is out of service in faded red letters set against a white background. He crouches down on the floor as the door swings itself shut again behind him, shaking with terror and exhaustion as he waits for safety to come. Any moment now he'll be okay, he'll be safe, he'll be -

Nothing happens.

No! This isn't right! This isn't how it’s meant to be! His heart leaps up into his mouth as he crouches there in the darkness, casting fearful looks back at the closed doors. It's not working. He was wrong. And now he'll - he'll...

_Say the words. You have to say the words._

The thought cuts through the fog in his mind, at once alien and familiar, in a voice not quite like his own.

Words. That's right. There are words. He knew them once, knows them now, if only his mouth will cooperate the way it used to.

The boy shivers, then stands slowly, hauling himself up to the phone itself. The phone that's not a phone. His hands - pale and white with twisted knuckles - drip with rainwater as they settle themselves on either side of the strange display, and he swallows hard as he prepares himself for the trial ahead; hoping that for once in the short miserable existence he remembers for himself thought will cross the bridge into speech; that broken pathways will connect themselves the way they used to before.

It takes effort, but when he opens his mouth he finds that the ability to speak has not entirely deserted him.

"Ruh... Ruh-Robin… B..." The boy gasps in a rasping whisper, before starting at the sound. Is that his voice? Is that what he sounds like? A weeping violin with its chords cut? He reaches to touch his throat, but terror beats against the inside of his skull again before he can contemplate it further. _Hurry_ the fear screams, reminding him that there's no more time to waste. He swallows once more, casting another look at the door and expecting to see the shadow of his pursuer lurking there even as he grasps for the final piece of the puzzle. He's so close, he knows he is. Just one more word...

It comes to him in a flash, as if the hand of God himself put it there. "Thir-thirteen!"

" _Recognise: Robin, B-13._ "

The boy jerks back at the electronically synthesised female voice, shying away like a frightened animal to the other side of the booth and throwing his arms up around his head as the sound of the machine whirring to life invades his ears. He clenches his teeth, bites back a scream, and then...

… then there is L I G H T.  


*  


Far from the rain-soaked Gotham, high above the Earth, Nightwing stands in the central hall of the JLA Watchtower with his arms folded across his chest, looking out of one of the station’s large viewing windows and into the star-filled vastness of space beyond.

It's been six months since the Reach invasion ended. Six months since Dick began his extended leave of absence from the team to get his head back on straight after having to make one too many hard choices in the name of saving the planet - and after losing one too many friends.

Six months since he left; one day since he came back to take his place on the Team yet again.

He's had the time he needed to grieve, to recover; to figure out where he's going in life and what he really wants for himself, and then finally, _finally_ , be ready to come back where he belongs on his own terms.

Not as the leader, no. Not now, but as just another part of the whole; a senior member alongside Miss Martian, Superboy and Aqualad, training young heroes to be the best that they can be. Leading the Team was and is still Kaldur's rightful place, as it always has been, and as it probably always should be. The time he had to reflect on his one and only stint in the position had only cemented that fact for Dick, because the truth was that the pressure of being in command had pushed him to places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go: making him act more more like Batman than he was strictly comfortable with.

The things he'd done in the name of the greater good… they still eat at him at times like this: the quiet hours of the night (or what passes for night on the Watchtower). All the lies, all the secrecy. His choices had almost led to the destruction of Kaldur's _mind._ And then, just when they’d thought it was over, he'd lost the best friend he'd ever had thanks to the Reach’s final parting blow at those who defied them. After that, how could he ever be in a rush to step into a leadership role again?

Still, it feels damn good to be home, and the welcome he'd received after stepping out from the Zeta tube... Dick feels a smile spread over his face at the memory. His back still aches from the overenthusiastic, and in some cases superpowered, hugs from his friends. It had been more than flattering to realise just how happy they were to have him back, especially considering that it wasn't like he hadn't seen most of them at least once during the months he'd been gone.

Anyone who’d known him for more than five minutes could tell that if there’s one thing Dick Grayson is not good at, it's staying still. His sabbatical from the team had been subject to more than a few cheating moments across the months when Barbara, Tim, or Kaldur had asked for his help. Not to mention the fact that he'd still been looking after Bludhaven in the interim, as well as occasionally venturing over to Gotham next door whenever Batman needed Nightwing’s assistance on a case. Dick just couldn't help himself, even as he tried to relax and enjoy time _outside_ of crime fighting; he's been doing it for too many years since too young an age to ever be able to break free completely.

So as of yesterday he’d come back, as they'd all known he would, and in truth as Dick knows they need him to, what with Lex Luthor's political ambitions on the rise and the Light still mostly at large. The team has done good work in the time that Dick has been gone, but there's still always more to do; more plots to foil, more dangers on the horizon. The War World in particular remains a constant concern at the back of all their minds, as not even the Green Lantern Corps have been able to discover where Savage had taken it.

"Can't sleep?"

Dick turns his head at the question, and smiles when he sees Artemis standing in the elevator doorway, dressed in her Tigress gear except for the mask. Like him, she'd also taken a leave of absence from the team to do her own thing, and like him it had still involved being a vigilante.

"No." He admits quickly. He has no heart to try and lie to her. Artemis is someone he owes a lot to, and maybe feels the most guilt towards, even though Wally’s choice to sacrifice himself had been his own. Wally was his best friend, but to Artemis he'd been so much more. Dick gestures for her to come over and join him by the window, which she does without hesitance, standing at his side with her arms folded loosely across her belly in a way that looks oddly vulnerable for her.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No. I mean... it's nothing big.” he shakes his head, then bites his lip before admitting, “It's just... weird I guess. Being back up here in an official capacity after all this time."

"Brings back a lot of memories." Artemis fills in for him, picking up effortlessly on the words he doesn't say. "Almost makes you feel like a real Leaguer to be standing up here instead of down in Mount Justice."

Another pang of guilt. It had also been Dick's choice to sacrifice the Team's first home in the name of the mission, yet he can't help smiling at the notion. "Yeah. Still not interested in joining the Justice League yourself?"

"Only as much as you are."

He laughs, and after a moment Artemis joins him. "No way. Count me out, forever and always. The Team and Bludhaven are enough for me any day."

"Me too. Well, not Bludhaven, that hellhole is all yours, but you know..." She smiles for a moment, before her expression sobers. "Sometimes I'm still not sure I'm doing the right thing being back here at all. Wally wanted us to get out of the game so much, but since he died all I've done is..."

"Hey." Dick touches her shoulder, feeling the now familiar stab of his own grief rear its head again at just the mention of Wally's name. "You know he'd be proud of you for being here. Of both of us. He always supported you in everything you wanted to do."

"Even if he didn't agree with it."

"Even then. He just complained a lot about it instead."

Artemis laughs again, and it's good, _feels_ good, that they can be up here and laughing together over a wound that still feels so raw. But by now Dick guesses he's a practised hand at it, having lost as many people over the course of his life as he has. Wally was the last in an unpleasantly long line for him; following his parents, his cousin, and...

The name preceding Wally's is one that still feels pretty raw too.

"Hey, I’ve got an idea.," Dick says, wanting somehow to get off this grim topic. "How do you feel about grabbing a cup of coffee and watching a movie together? It'll take our minds off not being able to sleep."

The Watchtower is on its night cycle, which means the central hall is deserted, as are most of the other public zones, including the cafeteria and small movie theatre that was added into the recreational area a couple years back.

"You mean make sure we _won't_ be able to sleep." Artemis says, with another upwards twist of her lips before she nods. "Sure, why not."

"Great. Because there’s this horror movie I’ve been waiting ages to see. I think we have it up here. It’s about these two kids who break into..."

Dick continues to talk as he starts to lead Artemis out of the hall, telling her the synopsis of the film as best he can remember it, but before they can reach the elevator doors the main Zeta tube suddenly starts to power up behind them. Dick stops out of curiosity to watch, since so far as he knows no one is scheduled to be coming in at this time of night, and he can feel Artemis' interest match his as they turn together to see who it is.

" _Recognise: Robin_ ," The computer announces, and the words immediately put Dick on edge, as he's pretty sure Tim is asleep in his room up on the habitation levels. Surely Dick would have been notified if he'd left earlier for any reason, and the thought so preoccupies him that he almost misses the rest of the announcement.

" _B-13_."

Almost, but not quite.

Dick feels his heart seize in his chest, at the same time as Artemis turns startled and alarmed eyes his way. His own incredulous disbelief is reflected in her face as she speaks to him in shaky tones, "Did that just say what I think it said?" but Dick’s eyes are fixed on the tube, unable to break away as the light flares and a familiar figure comes tumbling through the teleporter to fall on the ground near their feet.

Skinny, and tall. Taller than he should be; wearing torn jeans, worn sneakers and a red sweatshirt with the hood up that obscures all the features of his face except for the few dark curls of hair dripping with rainwater that manage to escape out from underneath the fabric.

 _Rat tails._ Dick thinks numbly, _I used to call them his rat tails when they got wet, he’d hit me for it every time._

At his side Artemis reaches for her sword, not paralysed by shock as much as Dick is. She knows, as he should know, that the use of a dead teammate's call sign to access a Zeta tube is not a good thing, and that in this particular case there _can't_ be any way that the boy who's just fallen onto the floor in front of them is who Dick hopes he is. There just can't. But still the name slips past his lips in a desperate, longing moan.

" _Jason_?"

Dick chokes as the boy's head whips up from he's cowering low against the floor to stare back at them. Those eyes, he _knows_ those eyes, the shape and colour of them, and that face, aged as it is past the fifteen years Jason was when Dick saw him last, only days before he died. It can't be, yet it is, and before he knows what he's doing Dick has already dashed forwards across what little space remains between the two of them to crouch down in front him.

"Nightwing, don't!"

He ignores Artemis' shout, focused only on Jason. The shock in his eyes has changed to fear, and it doesn't take the flick of them over his shoulder for Dick to know the cause. He lifts his shaking hands carefully, making sure to keep his gaze fixed on his little brother's face. "Artemis, put your sword away."

"What?" He hears Artemis say incredulously from behind him. "But Nightwing he could be a - I mean..."

A Cadmus clone. A trick. A brainwashed trap sent to them by their enemies, but the sheer terror on Jason's face overrides all of Dick's sensibilities. All he can see is his brother: the boy who died beneath a burning warehouse while Dick was gallivanting off across the other side of the planet on another mission; another family member he had to bury because he couldn’t save them.

"Put. It. Away." he says again, watching Jason flinch back at the dark warning edges of his tone. He starts to crawl away from them, dragging himself backwards across the floor by his elbows while looking between Dick and Artemis with no immediate recognition shown towards either of them.

Without thinking Dick reaches up and tears his domino mask away from his face, dropping it onto the floor beside him as he continues to hold his hands out towards the trembling teenager. "Jay? It's me. Hey, it's me. It's Dick, okay?" he whispers, "You don't have to be scared, it's just me."

Jason stops his backwards crawl as Dick hears the soft _shink_ of Artemis' sword sliding back into its sheath. He blink, focusing his eyes entirely on Dick now that she’s put her weapon away.

"I'm here, little wing." That nickname, unused for so long, seems to startle Jason, holding him in place and encouraging Dick to press on as he moves slowly forwards on his knees across the floor after him. He doesn't know how Jason's here, how he's _alive_ , if it really is him or why he doesn't seem to recognise either of them, but if there's even the slightest chance this is real then Dick can't let him get away. He just _can't_. "Shh, it's okay. I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you. I'm your brother, remember?"

The fact that Jason hasn't yet said a word is almost the most bizarre thing of all. He was always such a mouthy little bastard to everyone around him, with the attitude to back it up. But now Jason is silent except for the soft gasping breaths he releases through his mouth, matching the rapid rise and fall of his chest through the sopping wet sweater he's wearing.

It's raining in Gotham right now. The thought hits Dick suddenly out of left field.

_He came from Gotham._

Dick counts every inch that he slides forwards and Jason doesn’t move back as a victory. He keeps talking, keeps repeating the same words over and over: Jason's name, that he's safe, that he's home; that Dick would never, _ever_ hurt him. All under Artemis' watchful eye, until finally he's close enough to wrap his hand around Jason's shoulder.

The touch catapults Jason into action, and he lets out a sound finally, a confused whimper as he lashes out at Dick, but Dick catches the fist that's thrown his way, pushing it down towards Jason's side as gently as he can, trying not to hurt him as he pulls his little brother forwards to fold him into an embrace against his chest. Dick wraps his arms around Jason’s back, tucking his head in beneath his chin as he rocks him; continuing to croon soft soothing platitudes in his ear as Jason tenses up in his hold for a moment (and God, he's so _tall_ now, so tall, and so _thin_ , like he hasn't eaten well in months) before suddenly collapsing forwards against Dick's chest with a broken sob.

"Dick..." Artemis whispers, her voice raw with disbelief. "I... I'm going to get help."

Dick doesn't say anything in response to Artemis leaving, or even look up at the sound of her rapidly retreating footsteps. He's too focused on the impossible miracle currently curled up against his chest to think about anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Some more YJ angst for you all this week. As a heads up, the next update after this once may be a little longer in coming as I need to retool the third chapter a bit to fit in with my preferred plotline now that this fic is no longer my DCU Bang story (by the by, I'm very excited to be posting my replacement story for the bang at the end of this month, so look forward to that XD)
> 
> Enjoy!

“How is he?” Kaldur is the first one to speak when Black Canary comes out of the infirmary. The first one of them to break the heavy silence that has settled between Dick and the other members of the Team that have gathered outside.

After Jason's crash landing in the Watchtower’s main hall, Artemis had been quick to summon the rest of their original teammates who were currently on board to come deal with the situation, as well as Black Canary as the senior JLA member in charge. With quick efficiency, they’d managed to escort Jason and Dick up to the infirmary before anyone else could see them, and now Dick finds himself sitting down in a hard and uncomfortable plastic chair outside the room they've sequestered Jason in with Artemis beside him, her hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder while Kaldur and Conner take up the space on the other side of the corridor.

Standing across from the doorway like that, with their arms folded across their chests, the two of them look like a pair of bodyguards. Or maybe just guards. Dick is still finding it too hard to think about anything other than the fact Jason’s alive at the moment to be sure.

Dinah sighs at the question. Her eyes find and settle on Dick, who can't seem to stop his hands from trembling as he looks back at her, hungry for news on Jason’s wellbeing. "Physically? He's in relatively good shape. He could use a few good meals, but aside from a few scrapes and bruises he's otherwise okay."

"And is it really him?" Conner asks, ignoring the way Dick's head turns sharply in his direction at the question, glaring through lenses of the mask he'd only just had the sense to stick back onto his face before they came up here. Sure, someone had to ask it considering their experiences with the dangers of clones before, and Superboy has more right to do so than anyone else, but the reminder that Jason might not be himself still stings.

There’s no way that can be true, just no way.

"Blood work checks out, as do his scars compared to what we have on record, both from previous wounds and from..." Dinah swallows, visibly having to force herself to continue. It's rare and unsettling to see Black Canary hesitate over anything. "... from what the Joker did to him. Doctor Fate hasn't been able to pick up any signs of mystical interference around him either, so as far as we can tell he really is the second Robin."

"As far you can _tell_?" Dick asks, voice rising in incredulity. "Of course it's him! Look at him!" He stands, despite Artemis' attempts to pull him back down. She ends up getting to her feet with Dick instead, keeping a tight hold on his arm, ready to hold him back at a moment's notice.

"Dick, we have to be cautious, after what happened with Speedy -"

"He isn't Speedy! Roy was taken weeks after he started his career with Green Arrow, and Cadmus was already disassembled before Jason even became Robin!"

Kaldur steps forwards, his webbed hands held up with his palms facing forwards in a peacemaking gesture, "My friend, please, I understand your thoughts. To have a loved one return in such a way is nothing any of us could be prepared for, but you must think this through rationally."

"I am thinking it through rationally!" Dick snaps, his own hands curling into fists. "I know him, Kaldur!"

The rest of the Team exchange a concerned look between them. Dick can tell at once that they think he's acting crazy, irrational, driven by grief and desperation to see Jason as he wants to see him, rather than what he could potentially be. And maybe that's true, but Dick's gut keeps screaming at him that the boy in the room behind him really is Jason, and he'd learned to trust his gut since the first time he stepped out onto the trapeze. Instinct is an aerialist’s best friend, and listening to it has saved his life more than once in the past.

"Dick," Conner says quietly, breaking the usual code of using superhero titles only aboard the Watchtower, but it's hardly a big deal since Dick broke it first and everyone gathered here now already knows who he is. "I know what you want to believe -"

A low growl escapes his throat.

"- but even if he's not a clone there's still other ways he could have been sent by one of our enemies to hurt us."

"He's right, Dick." Artemis says quietly to his side, eyes tracking to the infirmary door,, "And since both Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian are away on the other side of the galaxy with the rest of the Justice League right now we have no way of knowing the truth. Especially since he's not talking."

"He spoke to activate the Zeta tube.” Dick tries to protest. “We looked up the security camera footage."

In broken, hesitant speech. It had been the voice of someone who hadn't spoken in weeks, possibly not even months.

"But that doesn't change his silence now." Kaldur continues calmly, taking the conversation up from where Artemis left off. "And the timing of his arrival is suspect in itself; a day after you come back to the Team. You must admit that is a strange coincidence, if nothing else."

Dick opens his mouth to refute the claim - then hesitates. No, he can't. He can't refute it. But that doesn't change the more important facts. "Kal, please. I can't..."

Lose him. Not ever again.

"I know, Dick." Dinah says, the first thing she's said since bringing up Speedy as an example of why they should be careful. "But until we can be one hundred percent sure there's nothing else at work here we have to play this cautiously. I’m asking you to trust us on this."

Dick stares at her, aware of Artemis still holding onto his arm and the two other pairs of eyes focused his way. "Of course I trust you." He finally says, "But this is..."

"I know. He's family, and it's hard to stay objective where family is involved. Which is why you have to trust us to do it for you."

"What are you proposing?" Dick asks slowly, fully aware he's probably not going to like what comes next. And he's right, he doesn't.

"Jason stays here until the Martians and Batman return from their current mission." Dinah says. "He'll be kept safe and comfortable, but until we have confirmation that there's nothing more sinister behind his return we can't allow him to leave the Watchtower."

Dick swears, sudden and sharp enough to cause them all to look at him in surprise. "No, he needs to come home with me."

"Black Canary is right." Kaldur puts in. "There's no better option than to keep him here at the moment. At least until we can be certain of the truth."

“But -”

"This is non-negotiable, Dick." Dinah adds in finally, cutting off any protests Dick has.

He looks between them, at their serious hard faces and knows that they mean it. It doesn't matter what he says now, they fully intend to make sure Jason doesn't make it back off the Watchtower until Bruce and the Martians return.

_Bruce._ Oh God, what is Bruce going to think about all this? He doesn't know. Dick needs to tell him - and Alfred. Alfred has to know too. Then there's Barbara and Tim. Tim, who didn't even get to meet Jason before he died. All of them -

Dick swallows the scream that's lodged itself in his throat back down with some effort. "You are not locking him up like he's some kind of criminal."

"Of course not." Dinah replies, her expression compassionate as she nods. "He can stay here in the infirmary. It's safe and comfortable, and -"

" _No_. You want to keep him up here on the Watchtower? Fine. But he's staying with me, in my quarters. That's also non-negotiable."

He's playing it close to the edge of outright insubordination, but damn it, this is Jason they're talking about. Dick wants nothing more than to take him home where he'll be surrounded by warmth, familiarity and, most importantly of all, _family_. If he can't have that then he's damn well going to give Jason the next best thing.

Judging by the look on Dinah’s face she's none too pleased with him for the ultimatum, but right as it looks like she's about to argue Kaldur steps up for him, and Dick's never been more grateful to his Atlantean friend in his life. "His presence in Nightwing’s quarters will be no more harmful than him staying in the infirmary. That is, so long as Dick agrees to keep an eye on him at all times."

"Of course I will." Dick says, barely holding back another growl. What else would he do? He's hardly going to leave Jason alone in his condition!

Dinah narrows her eyes for a second longer before surrendering. Her shoulders relax as she nods. "Fine. But he stays in your quarters unless accompanied by you or another senior Team member. I don’t want him wandering the station, especially near the control room or anywhere else where he could do serious damage or access secure information. Understood?"

Dick jerks his head in a savage nod, not trusting his voice with a verbal answer. He's too angry at the idea that Jason is even being considered a threat in the first place.

"Then all right. I think that's enough for tonight, we'll figure out where to go next in the investigation tomorrow." Dinah brushes her hair back from her face, her mouth and eyes pinched tight at the corners as if she has a headache coming on.

Conner and Kaldur leave first, with supportive words and squeezes to Dick’s shoulder. He accepts their gestures with another stiff nod, while Artemis lingers the longest outside of Dinah. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with him?" she asks.

"Of course I am. He's family." Dick replies quietly.

Artemis doesn’t look reassured by his answer, but at least she doesn’t question him any further on it either. When she steps forward to hug him Dick accepts it gratefully, maybe clinging a little longer and tighter to her back than is strictly necessary. "If you need anything I’ll be around, okay? Just call me."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks, Artemis." Dick watches her walk away, then moves to enter the hospital room alone, but before he can step through the door Black Canary clears her throat to stop him. "What?" he asks her shortly, hand still on the door handle.

"Dick, there’s something else I need to tell you. About what I said earlier..."

He stares at her blankly. Dinah's said a lot of things in the last ten minutes, and his mind is too still too busy trying to process everything that’s happened to immediately discern which one of them she's referring back to.

Luckily she doesn't expect him to answer. "About his condition. Physically he's fine, but mentally? He's not even close. It's hard to say for sure until we can get an actual specialist to look at him, but there's a significant chance that the blows to the head he suffered before dying left him with brain damage. The scars show that whatever brought him back to life didn't heal his wounds from that event perfectly. But even ignoring that possibility..." Dinah keeps her eyes fixed on his as she says the next part, "The mental trauma he must be suffering from is beyond anything I've ever seen."

"Do you think that's why he's not talking?" Dick asks, trying not to flinch at the reminder of Jason's death. He remembers every detail of the medical reports, having forced himself to read each word at least three-times over in a way he only came to recognise as a form of self-punishment for himself months after the funeral (when he’d caught Bruce doing the exact same thing).

That's how he knows it wasn't the blunt force trauma or the explosion that had killed Jason; it had been the smoke. His brother had lived past the Joker's beating and the collapse of a building on top of him only to suffocate minutes later. More than a few of Dick's nightmares since then had focused on that fact.

"I can't say for sure, but I think so. He can speak, we know he can, which means his refusal to talk now is probably out of a subconscious choice rather than an inability to do so. There’s also a high chance his memory is damaged too, which might be why he didn't recognise you at first."

"Can you help him?"

Dinah sighs, like she knew he was going to ask her that question and was already dreading it. "I don't know if this is something normal therapy can solve, Dick."

"Please." Dick finds himself saying, the anger he felt towards her earlier draining away from him in the face of despair. "Please."

Her hand touches his shoulder, squeezing firmly. "We'll talk more about it later. For now," her expression softens, "Go take care of him."

Dick nods, drawing into himself as he pulls away and heads into the infirmary. That's one thing he can do.

 

*

 

Getting Jason back to his quarters on the Watchtower is much easier than getting him up to the infirmary was.

Then Jason had still been panicking, shaking and pulling against Dick's hold, no matter how gentle he'd tried to be. It had taken other people showing up to turn his behaviour around, from trying to flee to clinging tight to Dick’s uniform, holding onto his arm the same way a small child would their parent’s sleeve.

Now he's completely docile as he allows Dick to lead him by the hand through the Watchtower's hallways, to the point that Dick is glad he’d checked the medical charts at the foot of his bed before they left the ward to be sure they hadn’t sedated him. Somehow it’s worse than the fear he’d displayed before. Jason had never been like this, never. He’d always been animated, talking and laughing around those he was familiar with; an energetic teenage boy, even if he’d never been as outgoing as Dick was.

If this is how it’s going to be from now on… Dick swallows. He supposes he’ll just have to get used to it.

"Here we are." Dick says, with as much cheer as he can summon as he shuts the door to his quarters behind them. Inside he's still freaking out a little, but good old Grayson charm never deserts him when he needs it. If Jason is even the least bit aware of what he’s saying he wants him to feel safe, and to know that his older brother can take care of him. "I know it's not the manor, but it's the best we're going to get for a little while, okay"

Jason doesn't respond, just keeps watching him with unnervingly blank green-blue eyes. His gaze is attentive if nothing else, and Dick likes to think that it's because his brother recognises him now. He knows who Dick is and that he can trust him.

With gentle hands Dick guides Jason deeper into the room, directing him down to sit on the couch so that he can crouch on the floor in front of him. He takes both of Jason's hands in his, squeezing them as he talks, searching his face for even the smallest reaction to anything he’s saying.

"We'll get you some clean clothes. We don’t have anything of yours up here though, sorry, but that’s okay. You can wear some of mine. I think you’ve grown too much for your old stuff anyway. And something to eat too. I bet you'd like that, you've got to be starving, right? You could eat for England, that's what Alfred always said. Actually, how about a shower first? That’d be great after that rainstorm you ran through to get here, right?"

Jason returns his gaze serenely, but doesn't nod or answer in any way. He just keeps watching Dick, who finds himself suddenly wanting very badly to cry.

This isn't right, this isn't Jason. Yet it is, it has to be. Dick didn't even need to the DNA test to confirm it. He'll always recognise Jason, no matter how much he grows.

"Little wing..." he tries again. "Come on. Say something. Please? Anything. I can't... please, Jay. Just give me something here. Prove you're in there."

There's a slow blink, but even Dick can't bring himself to believe that it's anything significant. Everyone blinks, catatonic or not. It was just a natural reaction, not a conscious acknowledgement of his words.

For a moment he almost wishes he had left Jason up in the infirmary under someone else’s care, before inwardly berating himself. No, Jason is family, which makes him Dick's responsibility. He can’t run away from this, no matter how much it hurts to see Jason this way.

Leaning forwards, Dick presses his forehead against their intertwined hands for a long moment before pulling back. "Okay. That's okay. Don't worry about it. I'll just…. I’ll get you some clean clothes, then you can shower while I make you something to eat, all right?"

Dick looks back up, foolish hope rearing its head once more only to be shattered a second later. This is not going to be something he can get used to anytime soon, but he's going to have to deal with it nonetheless. At least until M'gann gets back and can take a closer look at whatever is going on inside Jason's head.

"Stay here, Jay.” He whispers, giving his fingers one final squeeze before standing back up. “I'll just be two seconds."

Letting go of Jason is hard, and Dick catches himself casting frantic looks back at the lonely figure sitting on the couch until he no longer can - paranoid that if he takes his eyes off Jay for even a second he’ll vanish back into thin air, or that he’ll wake up, proving this all to have been some desperate dream. Dick tries to be quick about grabbing clothes from his closet. The only things he has that aren't his uniform up here are loose pyjama pants and t-shirts for sleeping in, but he doubts Jason will be complaining no matter what clothes he wears.

It's a bitter and nasty thought, one that brings Dick up short. He has to pause, blinking rapidly before taking off his mask again so that he can wipe at the corners of his eyes.

"Stop it." He mutters to himself, "He needs you. No matter what else is true, that's the most important thing right now. He needs you, so pull yourself together and go take care of him."

Dick takes a couple deep breaths, forcing himself back towards calm before turning around to head back out of his bedroom and into the main living space.

At least that's what he means to do, only when he turns around he literally comes face to face with Jason. Jason who, despite all the odds, has somehow snuck up behind him without Dick noticing.

"Crap!" he exclaims, the clothes in his arms falling to the floor as he jumps back, instinctively making room between himself and the intruder, only realising what he's doing and who it is he’s reacting to a second too late to stop himself. "Jason? I... you scared the shit out of me, little wing." He gasps, putting a hand over his heart as it pounds in his chest. "What are you doing?"

Jason flinches back minutely at his reaction, his shoulders tensing up in what Dick recognises as a preemptive to a fight or flight reaction. He quickly lowers his voice back down to the soothing tone he was using before, holding his hands up in a calming gesture.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm not mad. I just wasn't expecting you to be there." Dick says softly, trying to sound reassuring. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?" He couldn't have been gone from the main room more than five minutes, but apparently it was enough time for Jason to switch out of his almost catatonic behaviour and go back to moving under his own power. "Jay?"

Jason looks down and Dick follows his gaze, noticing for the first time that he's holding something in his hands. His heart twists when he realises what it is.

A batarang. One of Bruce's. It wound up in Dick's collection some time ago after he borrowed it on a mission and he's continually forgotten to give it back ever since. It’s been sat on one of the shelves in his room in the Watchtower for months gathering dust until Jason found it.

Until Jason _recognised_ it.

Eyes widening, Dick looks back up at his face. "Jay, do you remember what this is?"

_Please God, remember_.

"Bruce."

It's just one word. More of a rasp really, spoken in that same broken voice that Jason had used in the recording taken from the Zeta tube in Gotham. But it's _something_. Some recognition, a sign that somewhere in there is his brother.

It also breaks Dick's heart.

He smiles wanly, reaching and putting his hands over Jason's on the batarang before whispering, "Yeah, Bruce."

Jason turns his head, clearly looking for some further sign of their mentor in the room and the crack in Dick's heart widens even further.

"He's not here. He's... off-world. I mean, we're off-world. But he's across the galaxy on a mission with the rest of the Justice League. But he'll be back soon I promise, then we'll all go home together, all right?"

Jason's fingers tighten around the batarang at the news, making Dick worry that he's going to cut himself on the sharp edges, but his muscle-memory is apparently still completely intact even if the rest isn't, because he holds the batarang with perfect form, fingers digging into the broader parts of the metal without slicing open his skin. There's no larger change to his expression, but there doesn't have to be; Dick reads his distress well enough even without it.

Without hesitation he lifts his arms upwards and wraps them slowly around Jason's shoulders. It hits him again how much he's grown - they stand almost eye to eye now - and it's easy to draw Jason's head down against his shoulder as Dick combs his fingers through his tangled hair. Jason makes no move to hug him back, instead he grips the batarang like a security blanket, and as far as Dick is concerned he can hold onto it as long as he needs to if it makes him feel better.

The others probably wouldn't approve of him letting Jason have hold of a weapon, but Dick thinks they can all go to hell right now. Jason reacted to the batarang's presence where words failed, that alone makes it worth letting him keep it.

"He's going to be so happy to see you, you know. He missed you, Jay. We all did. Missed you so much." He whispers into his brother's hair, tears springing uncontested into his eyes this time. "I don't know it happened but I'm glad you're back. And I promise we'll figure this out. Where you came from and how to make you better."

He kisses the side of Jason's head, swallowing as he thinks about the security footage from the Zeta tube again.

In the video it looked as if Jason had been running from someone or something. He’d come down the alleyway to the phone booth and thrown himself inside as if the very hounds of hell were on his heels, but why? Had someone been chasing him? And what for? It's another piece of the puzzle, one that Dick doesn't have the energy to think about any further tonight.

One step at a time, and right now that means getting Jason clean and fed. Everything else can wait until later.

 

*

 

The next morning, or more accurately, later that _same_ morning, Dick bites the bullet and calls Barbara and Tim up to his quarters so he can explain the situation to them while Jason’s still asleep in the bedroom.

He knows it’s not going to go well. He knows they may not believe him - not until they’ve laid eyes on Jason themselves at least - but Dick would rather give them the chance to prepare for the first time they see the resurrected middle child of their family than face him without warning. And by doing so, hopefully reduce the distress on both sides from any reaction they might have.

Barbara looks at him like he’s gone mad as soon as the words ‘Jason is alive’ pass his lips, then relays the story of how Jason had practically crash landed on top of him from the Zeta tube. "Dick… what you’re saying… that… it’s impossible."

"I know."

"He can't be -"

"I _know._ " Dick looks at Barbara seriously, then Tim, who so far is staying quiet. "Believe me I know. But he’s real. He's here. You can ask Kaldur or Artemis if you want a second opinion."

"People don't just come back from the dead, Dick." She argues, gloved hands curled tight in her lap.

"We both know that for at least one person that isn't true."

Both Tim and Barbara jolt, exchanging a look between them before Barbara’s eyes visibly narrow through her cowl as her surprise fades. Dick can practically see the cogs in her brain starting to turn. "Ra's Al-Ghul has a Lazarus Pit, and I hope you're not suggesting he has something to do with this."

"No. I don’t know. I just - it’s just a thought. Truthfully I have no idea." Dick admits, lifting one hand away from his lap to run back through his hair. He ends up tugging on a knot he finds there, trying to find an outlet for some of the stress he’s feeling. This is too much for him to handle alone and he needs Barbara and Tim to believe him now. He needs them on his side. "I have no idea how Jason's back, okay? But Ra's shows there's at least some precedent for this sort of thing happening."

"A bad precedent."

"You said he still has all his scars. If a Lazarus Pit was involved wouldn’t it have wiped them all away?” It’s the first thing Tim’s said since he greeted Dick at the door. His fingers are digging into the cushions of the couch, even though Tim’s voice remains steady and level as he reasons out that possibility.

“Right.” Dick nods jerkily, latching onto the reasoning. “That's what it does, and if he’d been in the Pit he might not be..." Dick turns his head back towards the bedroom door.

“Might not be what, Dick?”

He has to swallow thickly before answering Barbara’s question. This is the hardest part to admit. "It's like he's barely in there, Barbara. I think he recognises me, and he knows Bruce's name. He’ll walk, eat, and even use the bathroom by himself, but other than that he’s practically catatonic. Black Canary said she couldn’t be sure if it’s a reaction to the trauma of dying and then coming back, or because he,” God, it’s hard to say it out loud. “He could have serious brain damage.”

Barbara goes pale under her cowl. “Oh.”

Dick drops his hand back down out of his hair as he stares into his lap. “Yeah.”

He hears the sound of her getting up and padding around the coffee table to sit on the arm of the chair next to him. She puts one of her arms around his shoulders, before taking his hand in hers with the other. Dick supposes it’s a good sign that she’s now acting like she believes the words he’s saying. “Whatever the case we’ll get him help, Dick. Bruce can afford the finest medical care in the world.”

“Could M’gann help him?” Tim asks, his voice much quieter than before, bordering on timid.

“I don’t know. Not until she gets back to take a look at him.”

Barbara exhales sharply next to his ear, then makes an executive decision. “So what do you want us to do, boy wonder? How can we help? And bear in mind I want to see him before you send me off to do your work for you.”

Those are exactly the words he was hoping to hear. With palpable relief Dick lifts his head to look first at Barbara, then Tim as he tightens his fingers against hers.

"First… first I need you to tell Alfred for me. I don’t want him to hear it over the phone, he deserves better than that, but I need to stay on the Watchtower with Jason. The rest of the Team and the League want him here until they can trust that there's nothing sinister behind his resurrection, and we can't be sure of that until M’gann gets here."

Keeping Jason's presence on the station hush-hush is going to be harder said than done. Sometimes it felt like the Watchtower has no secrets, especially when one of the younger members of the Team could literally turn into a fly on the wall.

"Understandable.” Barbara looks just as unhappy as Dick did at the idea, but far more accepting of the possibility. She’s always been the more practical one out of the pair of them. “I’ll break it to him. What else?”

"Ask him to open up Jason's room and pick out some of his possessions to bring up here. Anything he was particularly fond of that might help jog his memory. His favourite books, CD’s, clothes that might still fit him... stuff like that."

"Do you really think that will help?"

"I'm not sure, but it can't hurt to try. He’s already reacted to seeing a batarang, other familiar objects might do the same trick."

“I can bring those back.” Tim offers. Dick nods gratefully before swallowing. Next comes the hard part.

"Good. Because after that, Barbara, I need you to go to Jason's grave."

"You want me to exhume his coffin." It's not a question, and Barbara doesn’t need to be telepathic to read his mind. Her voice rises in light horror at the request.

"He's here. Not there." Dick says with certainty, as if that somehow makes it better, "There won't be a body inside."

"But it's still..."

"If there's any signs of tampering or cover up we need to know about it, Babs. The Team is going to try and backtrack the path he took to the Zeta tube, but if anyone did take Jason to use against us the first clues will be at his grave. We know he was dead, we know he was buried," Dick forces himself to continue, trying not to look at Tim as he talks. He’s still just a kid despite all the things he’s been through, and the implication alone is enough to make Dick with all his superior years and experience shudder. "So either someone pulled him out of it or -"

"He dug himself out." Barbara finishes for him, shivering as well despite the carefully moderated temperature in the room. "Right. Okay. Okay, you've got a point. I'll do it."

"Thank you."

She shakes her head. "Don't thank me yet. Not until we know the truth.”

“So, um,” Dick looks back to Tim as he raises his voice, “Can we see him? I mean, would it be okay for me to meet him?”

Of course, Dick thinks. Jason had been Tim’s Robin. The one Tim looked up to; the one Tim followed around with his camera more than he ever did Dick (even if he recognised Dick first). He’s the one Tim sacrificed his safe normal life for, taking on the mantle of Robin in Jason’s memory so that Bruce would stop falling apart in the wake of his death. Of course he wants to meet him.

Barbara has a similar look in her eyes, backing up her earlier demand to see Jason before she’ll go anywhere else.

Dick sucks on his teeth, then nods. “I’ll see if he’s awake. Just be ready for, I mean he’s not going to be -”

“It’s okay, Dick. We understand.” Barbara says firmly, but not unkindly. She tightens the grip she has on his hand and around his shoulders one last time before letting go so he can get up and head into the bedroom. Barely a second after she releases him Dick’s already missing the comforting press of her body against his.

Inside the bedroom Jason sits up against Dick’s headboard, arms wrapped around his knees with the batarang he picked up last night dangling loosely from the fingers of his right hand. Dick’s glad to see that he’s already awake as he takes the spot on the bed next to him, touching his knee gently to try and focus Jason’s attention his way as he explains that Barbara and Tim are in the next room. As he explains who Tim _is_ in the best way he can think to, watching Jason’s face for any kind of reaction before sighing and nudging him to his feet, out of the bed and then into the space beyond.

There’s an audible gasp at Jason’s entrance from Barbara, whose hand flies up to cover her mouth and stifle any other sound she wants to make. She’s taken off her cowl, completely exposing her face, which means Dick can read her anguish clearly as it runs across her features.

“Jason...”

On the couch Tim abruptly jumps to his feet. His domino is also gone, and Dick wonders if Barbara encouraged him to take it off or if he made that decision himself. Tim rocks backwards on his heels, takes half a step forwards, then half a step back, before collapsing suddenly back down onto the couch as if all the air has been knocked out of him.

If either of them had any doubts left they’ve clearly been taken care of now.

“Oh God, Jason.” Barbara says again, the words muffled behind the press of her palm against her lips. She takes it away when she stands up slowly from the arm of the chair she’s still perched on, before walking across the floor towards to where Dick and Jason stand, just barely out of the doorway to the bedroom. “It’s really… it’s really you.”

Tim stays sitting, frozen in place. Only his right hand moving to self-consciously cover the ‘R’ for Robin that sits on the left breast of his uniform.

“Jay,” Dick prompts, trying to encourage him towards a reaction.

Jason looks up, maybe not at the sound of his name, but definitely at Barbara’s presence as she steps in front of him. His eyes track up her body from the floor, stopping to linger on her chest - which confuses Dick until he realises that he’s focusing on the bat symbol emblazoned there rather than her breasts.

What does it say that that symbol keeps catching Jason’s attention when nothing else will? Nothing good, he’ll warrant.

But then again, there’s nothing else that looms larger in their lives for any of them.

Noticing this, Barbara swallows hard before she bends down, balancing nimbly on her toes and purposefully putting her face directly in Jason’s line of sight instead. Her hands come up, resting on his shoulders and squeezing. “Jason?”

He doesn’t so much as blink. And God, it hurts Dick just to watch Barbara’s reaction, especially since he himself has been the recipient of that same blank gaze.

“Okay.” Barbara says after a moment, sucking in a shuddering breath. “Okay.” She closes her eyes, then opens them, her expression hardening as she looks up at Dick. “We’re going to figure this out, right?”

“Right.”

She nods, then with a swiftness that surprises him leans back up, standing on her tiptoes and pressing a kiss to Jason’s forehead, lingering long enough to cup his pale cheek in her hand before she pulls back and tugs her cowl back up over her head. It’s Batgirl who looks back at Dick now, one hundred percent.

“I’m going to get started on the investigation.” She says bluntly, turning away before he has any chance to respond, “I’ll inform you as soon as I know anything.”

Dick watches her leave with a sinking feeling in his heart. He suspects Barbara left not so much because she wants to get to work, but more out of a need to break down where no one else can see her. Certainly Dick’s felt the same way more than once since Jason arrived at the Watchtower, even going so far as to collapse down in the bathroom once his little brother had gone to sleep in his bed.

That just leaves… “Tim?”

Tim is still clutching at his chest, shoulders hiked up around his ears. He shakes his head, apparently without words now that he’s seeing his predecessor in the flesh before him. “I should...I should go with Batgirl. Get those things you asked for.”

“Tim, it’s -”

But then he’s gone too, sweeping out the door with a flare of his cape as he presses his domino back over his eyes. Dick sighs as he looks back down at Jason.

Well, that could have gone better.

“Come on, little wing.” He says eventually, “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

Afterwards, he’ll see if Black Canary and the rest of the Team have any further updates yet about where Jason came from and go from there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Happy New Year and all that! I'd like to say I'm giving you guys something uplifting and hopeful to start off the new year with today, but I'm sure you won't be surprised by that not being the case. Instead all I have is angst. Terrible, terrible angst.
> 
> This is also the first update of this fic I've made since YJ season 3 was announced, which was just the most amazing news. I've never been more pleased to say a story of mine can now officially be called an AU! Here's hoping for an amazing Red Hood arc when the new episodes eventually air.

Despite his quick exit, Tim ends up coming back that very evening. Appearing in Dick’s quarters looking a little more calm and in control of himself, with a heavy bag full of Jason’s belongings slung over his shoulder. The contents of which have been carefully selected by Alfred out of what the second Robin’s preserved bedroom, as well as some belongings that had been stored away in the manor’s attic because Bruce couldn’t bear to look at them any longer.

Books, photographs, CD’s and DVD’s... Even the plush Batman keychain Dick won for him from the circus the last time Haly’s came to town before he died makes an appearance. Jason had scoffed when Dick first presented the trinket to him after the show, insisting he didn’t need anything so stupid to keep from losing track of his keys. But he’d still snatched it out of his hand when Dick threatened to take it back to the vendor, and it hadn’t been long afterwards that he’d first spotted Jason using it, always slipping his keys in and out of his pocket with a defensive air whenever he caught anyone looking at him.

It’s a good memory. A cherished memory, and one he sorely needs right now. Dick smiles as he unpacks the little thing and sits it in the palm of his hand, nudging its worn cotton ears with the tip of his index finger.

“So how are you holding up, baby bird?”

“Huh?” Tim starts from where he’s stood watching Jason - who is currently sitting on Dick’s floor, watching TV on the flatscreen that’s hung on the wall. Or at least, he’s looking in the TV’s direction, but whether he’s actually taking anything that’s happening on the screen in is another story. “Oh, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You ran out of here pretty quick earlier.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Tim bites his lip. Dick’s not fool enough to miss an obvious attempt at turning the conversation around when he hears one. “You’re the one staying here with him, and you knew him before. I’m just…”

“Tim.”

“What?”

Dick sighs. “He’s not going to bite you.”

Caught out, Tim ducks his head down. It’s a gesture Dick hasn’t seen from him for a while, one that harkens back to the days when he was just starting out as Robin and not so confident in the role.

“That’s easy for you to say,” he mumbles, “you’re not the one wearing his old uniform.”

“It was my uniform first.” Dick reminds him, trying to figure out exactly what it is that’s going through Tim’s head. “And I’m proud of you for wearing it. I’m sure Jason will be too, once he’s well enough to understand.”

Talking about Jason’s recovery as an inevitability rather than a possibility is about the only thing holding Dick together now. He’d sent Bruce a message last night along his private League communication channel, hoping it that it would either reach him across the galaxy, or at least ping him as soon as the ship they were on came back into range. It wasn’t extensive for fear of one of their enemies intercepting it, just enough information to get the urgency of the matter across, but so far no reply has been forthcoming.

It could just be that Batman and the rest of the League are too wrapped up in what they’re doing for him to have the time to read it, or that they’re so far away the message hasn’t reached him yet, but Dick can’t help worrying that the radio silence means something much worse. Namely, that Bruce is refusing to believe the news, even though Dick himself is the source of the message.

He hopes that’s not true. That Bruce will trust that he’s not lying to him, but Batman’s paranoia is legendary. Considering how hard Jason’s death had hit him when it originally happened, he may not want to face the idea that he’s alive and - worst of all - that they could have failed him a second time.

“He doesn’t know me.”

“And he won’t so long as you’re refusing to go over and say hi to him the way you clearly want to.”

Pink spots appear high up on Tim’s cheeks when Dick points that fact out.

“Look,” Dick says, letting his voice soften. “I know this is hard, for all of us, and this isn’t the way you probably ever imagined getting to meet Jason. I won’t force you to go over to him, but,” he licks his lips as his fingers curl around the keychain in his hand, “I think it would be good for both of you if you did. You don’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

“Then what should I do?” Tim asks anxiously, wrapping his right hand around its opposing wrist.

As to that, Dick is at a loss, but only for a moment. His eyes land on the brightly illustrated cover of one of the books Alfred sent up, and as soon as they do an idea blossoms to life.

“You could read to him.”

“Read to him.” Tim says dubiously.

“Yeah.”

Dick lets himself smile as he picks the novel, a well-worn copy of _A Tale of Two Cities,_ up from the counter. “I know you’ve heard this before, but Jason was - _is_ a total literature nerd. Most of the stuff he likes bores me to tears, but some days the only thing that could get his head out of a book when he was Robin was a mission.” He turns the paperback around so Tim can read the title as he holds it out to him. “Which is why I’m certain he’d like it if you read to him now.”

It’s a gamble, but Dick is sure he’s right about this idea. Jason loved to read, and his favourite books might be yet another thing that will get through to him (beyond Batman symbols that is). And if it helps break the ice for Tim to interact with him too then, well, that will just be the icing on top of the cake.

“I… okay. Okay.” Tim surrenders, after a moment or two to consider it. He takes a deep breath, then straightens his back out like he’s about to embark on a mission. “I’ll give it a try. If you insist.”

“I don’t, but it’s too late to back out now, you already agreed.” Dick teases him, ruffling Tim’s hair before dropping the book into his waiting hands. “You can do this, Tim.”

Dick doesn’t go so far as to walk Tim over to Jason, wanting to give him space, but he does keep a close eye on the situation nevertheless, watching over them from the breakfast counter in the tiny kitchen area of his quarters. Tim stops next to his silent brother, and Dick thinks he says ‘Hi’ before sitting down beside Jason on the floor, with his back to the couch and a good foot of space left between them.

Well, that’s understandable. Dick’s not expecting miracles here, only hoping for them.

There’s another moment of hesitation, then Tim pries off his mask and places it next to him on the carpet before opening the book to the first page. Dick watches his head lower, his eyes focusing on the words printed there as he starts to read. It takes a little while, but eventually some of the tension starts to bleed out from Tim’s shoulders as he keeps his attention on the book’s pages rather than the ongoing silence from the boy beside him.

If Dick didn’t know any better, he could look at this scene and think it normal. A representation of what could have been, _should_ have been, had the Joker not so cruelly snatched Jason away from them when he did. A world where he and Tim were brothers, just as much as Dick himself was to the both of them.

But then again, if Jason hadn’t died, would they have ever met Tim at all? Without that pressing need for Batman to have a Robin in the wake of his self-destructive grief, would Tim have ever worked up the courage or the determination to come forwards and admit to them what he knew?

He doesn’t like to think about it, and similarly, just thinking the Joker’s name in this moment is enough to make Dick want to break something, so he quickly turns his attention away from watching the boys and back to unpacking the things Alfred has sent them. He’s not at all surprised to find that - in addition Jason’s belongings - there’s more than a few tupperware containers full of his home cooking included in the bag as well. All of them clearly labelled in Alfred’s precise handwriting, with the instructions on where they should be kept and how they should be prepared included for Dick’s benefit.

More than a few of the meals are ones he recognises as having been Jason’s favourites when he was living with them. A realisation that instantly makes Dick feel guilty all over again that he can’t take his little brother back to Gotham just yet. It must be agonising for Alfred to know that he’s here now, alive but trapped on the Watchtower, until such time as the League gives them the all clear to return home.

Sighing, Dick sets about putting what needs to be kept chilled away in the fridge, before stowing the baked goods away into the cupboards for tomorrow. While he works, he can hear Tim’s voice continuing to read Dickens’ prose in a soft, steady cadence behind him. A soothing backdrop to his own inner turmoil.

_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..._

At least knowing that Jason is currently safely under another’s watch gives him the opportunity to check in with his teammates and see if they’ve managed to come up with any answers regarding his origins yet. Leaning back against the counter, Dick picks up his tablet from where he left it, activating the holographic display before scrolling down through his inbox.

Still nothing from Bruce. Dick tries not to think about that too much before opening a recent email from Kaldur. He’s not surprised to read that his and Artemis’ attempt to follow Jason’s trail in Gotham had gone cold. The stormy weather hanging over the city last night had done its work in wiping away any tracks he might have left, forcing them to move onto the next step of the investigation: finding any and all witnesses who might have caught a glimpse of Jason that night and, hopefully, which direction it was that he came from.

Dick sends an affirmative back to them before moving on.

Next there’s a message from Black Canary, suggesting they set up a first appointment to try and assess Jason’s mental state tomorrow, as well as give him an X-ray to get a better look at the physical side of the damage if he’ll sit through it.

It’s not an MRI, which would reveal a much more in-depth picture of what’s going on inside his brain, but it’s the best the Watchtower infirmary has to offer - at least until he can take Jason back down to Earth to be seen by a real expert. Dick sends her back a confirmation immediately as well, even though he fears what horrors even that low level of insight might reveal.

On top of everything else, there’s the usual score of emails from the Team and his other contacts. as well as news about ongoing cases and the local crime reports from both Gotham and Bludhaven to keep on top of. He’s almost done going through all of them when the bottom corner of the screen lights up with the flashing alert of an incoming call.

Dick checks the I.D attached to the signal first before tapping the ‘Accept’ button.

“Nightwing here.”

“Hey, boy wonder.” Batgirl replies, her voice tired and strained as she looks back at him through the camera. Dick throws a quick glance in Tim and Jason’s direction to make sure they’re still okay with one another before heading into the bedroom. He has the feeling this is going to be the kind of unpleasant conversation that’s best had in private.

“Hey yourself. You find anything yet?”

“We did, and you’re not going to like it.” Dick assumes by ‘we’ she’s referring to herself and Alfred, though he can’t make out much behind her other than the Bat Cave’s general gloominess. “The coffin’s empty, just like you said it would be, and it has been broken open, but not from the outside.”

Dick’s stomach twists in on itself. “Meaning Jason broke out.”

“Right. Alfred said Bruce had alarms installed in the coffin, but they were only primed to sound if someone broke _in_ , not out. We’ve brought it back to the cave for further analysis, and I’m going to go interrogate the groundskeepers for the cemetery as Batgirl tonight. Just in case they might have seen something we missed.”

She sounds composed and matter of fact, something that Dick deeply envies her for in the moment. The unintentional reminder that they missed - well, _everything_ about Jason’s return until last night only makes it harder.

“Thanks, Babs.” he says, for lack of anything else useful to contribute. “You’re amazing.”

“I know.” A beat of silence passes. Then Barbara sighs, her eyes straying off to one corner of the screen before snapping back to him. “ Look Dick, I… I’m sorry I left the way I did this morning, I just…”

“I know, it’s hard seeing him that way.” He aims for reassuring, “It’s okay, we’ve all been thrown for a loop with this. And all things considered, I think you handled it better than I did.”

Barbara shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. How is he now?”

“The same, mostly. Tim’s here and reading to him.”

“His idea or yours?”

“Mine.”

For the first time since the start of the conversation, Barbara smiles at him. “Not bad, N. Not bad.”

“Hey, I am more than just a pretty face, you know.”

“That’s what you think.”

Dick allows himself a brief chuckle before turning serious again. “Look, Babs, I… really, thank you so much for doing this. You know I’d be lost without you right now.”

“No, you wouldn’t, but it’s still nice of you to say so. Look,” She glances back over her shoulder at whatever it is Dick can’t see going on behind her. “I need to get back to work. But I’ll send you the pictures and the analysis of the samples we’ve taken from the gravesite soon. In the meantime, promise me that you’ll take care of both him _and_ yourself, okay? I’ll call you again as soon as we know more.”

“I will,” Dick’s not sure why she felt the need to emphasise the part about him looking after himself on top of seeing to Jason’s needs, but he appreciates the sentiment enough to let it pass. “Say thank you to Alfred for me too. He sent enough food to keep us going through a nuclear winter.”

“You got it. Batgirl out.”

Her image vanishes from the screen, replaced by a brief ‘Connection cut’ message before the window disappears completely and the screen returns once again to his inbox, leaving Dick alone to contemplate everything he just learned.

The coffin was broken open from the inside out…

He shuts his eyes tightly, pressing his hand against his forehead to try and stave off the headache he feels coming on. Jason _was_ the one to break his way out, but how? Did he just spontaneously come back to life? How could that even happen? Earlier, he had used Ra’s Al-Ghul as an example of someone else who’d defeated death to come back to life multiple times, but at least Ra’s resurrections had an understandable - if you could call it that - explanation in the Lazarus Pit.

Jason’s on the other hand…

Dick shakes his head. The answers are out there somewhere, they have to be, and they’ll find them. He just has to be patient. And the more information they can gather in that respect before Bruce gets back, the better.

After closing down his tablet, Dick walks back out of the bedroom and into the living space, ready to force a smile onto his face for Tim and Jason’s benefit. Only he quickly finds there’s no need to pretend.

In the time he’s been out of the room, one of them - he suspects Jason - has shifted closer to the other. Jason’s curly haired head is bent down next to Tim’s own short-cropped hair, the TV in front of them going ignored as his eyes track the passage of the current Robin’s finger across the pages of the book he’s reading.

Maybe it’s nothing, but just like the batarang Dick can’t help taking the action as a small symbol of hope that Jason isn’t as completely gone as they initially feared.

The small, shyly pleased smile now curving Tim’s lips certainly doesn’t hurt in easing his fears either.

 

*

 

The next day dawns as a busy one. Both for those in the Watchtower, and the people working the investigation on the ground.

Barbara and Alfred’s forensic examination of the coffin turns up no more evidence than what they had been able to initially surmise from its broken state, but her interrogation of the cemetery’s groundskeepers was more forthcoming. Their frightened confession to Batgirl confirmed that they were the ones who had covered up the evidence of Jason’s escape from the grave, smoothing over the disturbed topsoil the morning after it happened out of a fear of losing their jobs.

Their jobs, Dick thinks incredulously _._ They were afraid of losing their _jobs_. Instead of going to the police about the possibility that someone had stolen or desecrated Jason’s body under their watch, they’d lied about it, not caring that every month afterwards the deceased’s family members would be coming to grieve over an empty grave.

That information alone is enough to make his head spin with anger, but the groundskeepers confession did more than just explain why they’d missed Jason’s emergence back into the land of the living in the first place; it also gave them an exact time frame for when the event had happened.

Two years _._ It’s been two _years_ since Jason crawled out of the ground without any of them noticing. only six months after he was murdered. Dick can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem real that he could have been alive and presumably in Gotham for so long without any of them finding him.

For every question they answer, it’s starting to feel like at least three new ones crop up in its place.

Kaldur and Artemis’ attempt to find witnesses on the ground in Gotham had similar results. Only one old homeless man claimed to have seen a boy matching Jason’s description that evening; running past him like ‘the very hounds of hell were at his heels’ close to the alley where the Zeta tube entrance was located.

Not exactly helpful, but Kaldur and Artemis hadn’t let that slow them down. They’d moved on, talking to others amongst the homeless crowd in Gotham, until finally a group of street children admitted they’d seen someone like Jason hanging around the area before too. Something that would be reassuring to know if they didn’t also say that at least a year had passed since they saw him last.

Just when Dick thought he couldn’t feel worse about what’s happened to Jason, he discovers another level he can sink to.

Two years. He’s been alive for two years. That fact won’t leave him alone, battering against the inside of his skull like a caged bird. Two years with only a few months of activity accounted for. That left a hell of a long period of time still needing to be filled in.

Stuck on the Watchtower, there’s not much Dick can do to find those answers himself but trust in his friends. His frustration grows with every dead end they report back to him, but like it or not, he’s forced to acknowledge that this is the path he’d chosen for himself when he refused to leave Jason’s side at the beginning. So, rather than focusing on the things that are beyond his power to change, Dick instead concentrates on doing what he can do for Jason in the here and now; starting by sitting in with him during a painfully quiet opening therapy session with Dinah.

His quarters in the Watchtower may not feel much like the room he remembers sitting in down in Mount Justice, but there’s still a queer sense of deja vu to watching Black Canary try and fail to bring out any reaction from Jason in front of him, no matter what approach or line of questioning she takes. To try and make up for it, Dick does his best to fill her in on what observations he’s been able to make about Jason’s behaviour over the last forty-eight hours instead, hoping that the information will in some way help her to do better the next time around.

At least Dinah seems amenable to his idea of presenting Jason with objects from his past to see if he’ll react to them when he tells her about it, though she cautions him to take it slow. They don’t want to risk overwhelming him with too much at once, and from what she says, there’s just as much a chance that he could have a bad reaction as a good one. A traumatised mind was in no way a predictable creature.

If only M’gann or J’onn were here, Dick thinks, they’d have their answers so much sooner, though it troubles him to realise how much they’ve come to rely on the Martians when it comes to matters of the mind - and how without M’gann’s presence he feels close to helpless in this situation.

(A thought that brings with it the queasy reminder of what his friends had said: the suspicious timing of Jason’s arrival, when anyone with the telepathic powers to see what was going on inside his head was missing from their ranks.)

“It’s okay.” he says to Jason afterwards, keeping a guiding hand on his shoulder while they head up to the infirmary next after Dinah. “The first session’s always the roughest. But it’ll get better. You’ll get better. You’ll see.”

The X-Ray doesn’t go well either. In fact, it doesn’t go at all.

Dick’s not sure what triggers it, maybe the appearance of the machine, or the noise, but Jason starts to panic the moment Dick leads him into the room, digging his heels in and whimpering as his breathing speeds up to what are potentially dangerous levels of hyperventilation. No amount of gentle words can soothe him, and things only get worse when Dick attempts to encourage Jason to lie down on the bed. He’s honestly scared that Jason’s going to make himself faint before he manages to pull him outside the room and calm him back down - though not without taking a fist to the jaw for his troubles first.

Out of all the things Jason might have forgotten in his time away from them, how to throw a proper punch apparently wasn’t one of them. Dick would smile at the knowledge - even through the pain in his jaw - if he weren’t so damn worried at the same time.

“Are you all right?” Dinah asks when she comes out to check on them, frowning at the sight of the ice pack Dick now has pressed against his face.

“Just peachy.” he replies, as perkily as he can manage while continuing to hold onto Jason’s fingers with his other hand, “Don’t worry, I’ve had worse on the training mats. It’s fine.”

The last thing he wants is for Dinah to start thinking Jason really is a danger to them. Then she might insist on keeping him locked up here in the infirmary, or even down in one of the secure cells at the base of the Watchtower, where they sometimes hold onto dangerous criminals awaiting transfer to Belle Reve on Earth or one of the other max-security prisons across the galaxy.

Dinah looks distinctly unimpressed at his attempt to downplay the situation, gaze searching his as if she can see through it and every other lie he’s ever told in his life. But eventually she sighs before reaching up to press her hand against her forehead like she’s trying to hold back a headache. “Well, at least we know that his muscle memory is intact now.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Dick says hopefully. At his side Jason is staring at his feet, adrift in his own world apart from them. “If he can remember how to fight, maybe he can remember how to do other things too.”

“I think we’d have to test that a little more completely to be sure.” Dinah says disapprovingly, “And I’m not willing to allow any of you to risk serious injury to prove that. Let alone Jason.”

“Yeah, I know” he grimaces, “He’s not going to let us give him an X-ray is he?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not without putting him under sedation anyway, and I’d rather not do that needlessly.”

“Me neither.” At least not until Bruce gets back and can be consulted over whether or not it’s a necessary course of action. Jason is still technically underage, if just barely, which means that Bruce is still his guardian, and therefore the only one with the right to make those decisions on his behalf when he’s incapable of making them himself.

And maybe Dick’s glad for that, knowing that such important choices don’t have to be in his hands, even as he worries what will happen when Bruce comes back to face it all himself.

Dinah nods, “We’ll try again later this week. For now, you better take him back to your quarters and get some rest. I think you’ve both had enough excitement for one day.”

Dick smiles tiredly. The ache in his jaw is still going strong under the cooling effect of the ice, which means he’s probably going to have a very pretty bruise there soon. “You’re not wrong about that.”

After getting the all clear from the control room, he takes Jason back to his quarters. Jay hardly seems hungry after the miserable experience of the day, so Dick makes the decision to postpone dinner in favour of laying down with him on his bed instead. One arm wrapped tightly around his brother’s shoulders as Jason presses his face in against his chest, silent except for the slightly ragged sounds of his breathing.

If he responded that badly to an X-Ray, there’s no way in hell he’ll willingly go through with an MRI. Not when, to someone who crawled his way out of his grave, the enclosed tube of one of those machines will surely have a chance at reminding him of what it must have been like to wake up alone and trapped inside a coffin.

Dick’s skin crawls when he thinks about it. The sheer horror of what Jason must have been through before finding his way back to them.

Again he wishes that M’gann was here to help him. That Bruce was around to take some of the heavy weight of responsibility from his shoulders.

Then they could go home where they belonged, rather than being trapped up here in space and having to fumble along in the dark like lost children over what to do about the situation.

“Stop it.” Dick mutters, scolding himself as Jason’s breathing finally starts to even out against his chest.

It’s just a few more days, that’s all. He can handle it alone for a few more days.

 

*

 

“You look terrible.” Is the first thing Artemis says to him, when she comes up to visit on what is the fourth day of Dick’s voluntary imprisonment with Jason.

“Thanks.” He answers wryly. The door slides shut behind her with a gentle clicking sound. “It’s good to see you too.”

Artemis smiles. She removes her mask, then places it on the breakfast counter of the small kitchen when he gestures for her to sit down. “I hope you don’t mind me just dropping by. I wanted to see how you and Jason are getting on in person, but I can see you already have company.”

Dick follows her gaze across the room to where Tim and Jason are once again sitting together on the floor in front of the couch, working their way through the same book they started three days ago. His youngest brother has been stopping by at least once per day since he first met Jason, thanks to his confidence being bolstered by the positive reaction he’d had after his initial attempt at reading to him.

It’s sweet, and Tim’s dedication to helping Jason is more than admirable as he puts aside both his life in Gotham and his time with his friends among the Team to spend time with them instead.

“Don’t worry about it.” he tells Artemis gratefully, “I’m glad you came. I was starting to feel like a third wheel here, anyway.”

Artemis indulges him by laughing while he sets about brewing a pot of coffee for them to share. Tim glances up at the sound of the machine, but once he sees what’s going on he simply looks back down again and goes straight back to reading.

The last time he stopped in the middle of a chapter, Jason had responded by not looking at him again for a whole hour. The lesson was swiftly learned.

“Not feeling the aster, huh?”

“Not particularly.” Dick responds as he sets down a cup in front of her. They both know he’s not talking entirely about Tim and Jason spending time together when he says that. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Still no news from Batman or the rest of the League?”

He shakes his head as he takes his own seat. The wait is starting to wear thin on his already weary soul. Sometimes Dick feels far older than his meager nineteen years. Never more so than in situations like these where he was flying blind with no idea what he was doing, and could really, _really_ use the guidance of an older and more experienced mentor. “Not a peep.”

“You’d think after fighting so many alien invasions at home already, they’d be experts on defeating them by now.” Artemis jokes lightly, in an attempt to lighten his mood. “I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”

“Me too. Not that I mind looking after Jason. I don’t, of course I don’t, but it’s just the… not knowing I hate, you know?” His eyes drift inevitably back to the two boys again. “How he’s going to react. What he’ll do.” He licks his lips, “What M’gann might find inside Jason’s head.”

Artemis follows his look, sighing softly. “Yeah, I know. You’re not the only one worried about that.”

When Jason died, two memorial services had been held for him - much the same as they subsequently did for Tula after her passing. One, a public ceremony for Robin, held in Mount Justice, where those members of the League and Team who only knew him by his superhero identity could come and grieve for the young hero who’d given his life for the cause. The second, a private service held in Gotham, had been heavily restricted to just family and very close friends.

Dick still remembers the tightness of his shirt collar against his throat that day. How he couldn’t stop pulling at it the entire time they were laying Jason to rest near to the bodies of Bruce’s parents. How he wanted, but didn’t know how, to reach out to Bruce himself as stood alone ahead of the rest of the gathering with a bowed head and heavy shoulders, barely hearing the words of the priest droning on and on about how Jason gone on to a better place.

No matter how much he tried that day, and every day after, Dick had been unable to process that the body inside that wooden box was Jason, his lively little brother, now still and silent forevermore. Or so they’d thought.

Wally and Artemis had been the only two members of the Team to make the cut to attend the real funeral. Out of everyone, they’d known Jason the most outside their professional identities. And while Barbara was the one to step up and hold his hand, their solid presence at his other side had helped Dick to make it through that terrible day as much as any other.

Jason had always liked Artemis, he reflects. They had things in common, maybe even more so than he and Dick ever did.

“You guys still haven’t found anything else in Gotham, yet?” he manages to say, pulling himself free of the black well of his memories.

Artemis shakes her head. “No. But Barbara has a hunch that with Jason’s injuries and mental state, there’s a good chance he could have ended up in one of Gotham’s hospitals at some point. We’re checking the records now to see if we can find a John Doe matching his description being admitted anytime in the past two years.”

Dick twists his mug around by its handle on the table, focusing on the ugly sound the porcelain makes scraping against the wood. There aren’t that many major hospitals in Gotham, so if Jason _was_ taken to one of them there has to be something to find, and with his injuries he’d be pretty memorable to anyone working there who saw him.

“Good. That’s... good. Yeah. Keep me posted.”

“You may not have noticed, Dick, but we’ve done nothing _but_ keep you posted so far.”

“What, like you’ve got something better to do?”

He’s aiming for teasing, but Artemis is nothing but serious as she looks back behind her at Jason and Tim. Her voice is soft when she answers:

“No, not this time.”

After she and Tim leave, Dick warms up another of Alfred’s meals on the tiny stove without too much trouble. He may not be the greatest cook in the world, but he’s also not the complete disaster Bruce is in the kitchen either. Jason seems happy enough anyway, wolfing down anything Dick puts in front of him - especially if it’s sweet. And while it’s only been a few days, he’s already looking healthier with a few square meals down him than he did when he first arrived.

“You and Tim are getting on really well now, huh?” Dick says, once the last bowl is empty and he’s placed the bowls in the sink. He leads Jason from the kitchen to sit down on the sofa with him. “That’s great. You know, I always thought the two of you would get on well if you ever met. He admired you when he was a kid, you know? Used to follow you and Bruce all around Gotham, snapping photos. I’ll have to ask him to bring up the album next time he visits, you won’t believe some of the shots he managed to get. He did it with me too when I was Robin, but not as much as he did you. It’s just crazy we never caught him at it, right?”

Jason, of course, doesn’t say anything in return; he’s been silent ever since that single solitary croak of Bruce’s name the first night he was here, no matter how many times Dick has tried to coax him into conversation since. He’d done everything he can think of: reminiscing about old times and old missions, bringing up the best and fondest memories he has to share, but nothing worked.

Jason will do as he’s directed with a little guidance. He’ll shower and brush his teeth, eat and change his clothes. He’ll take care of his most basic needs without needing help, but most of the time it’s automatic. Mechanical. Like...

_The lights are on, but nobody’s home._

Dick swallows as soon as he thinks it. He’s heard the expression plenty of times before, but never had such an apt example to apply it to.

Or maybe it’s not that nobody’s home, he tells himself. Maybe it’s that they’re hiding in the closet; the cave under the house. Maybe it’s that the pain they went through is too much to face; for any mind to handle alone. The beating, the explosion, suffocating and then… and then waking up inside a coffin and having to claw his way out, what did that kind of experience do to a person?

A cold shiver works its way up Dick’s spine the longer he contemplates it.

_Someone has to know_ , he thinks desperately. Someone out there has to be able to fill in the missing months of the past two years of Jason’s life, and when they find them - or when M’gann returns, they’ll have their answers. Then they’ll finally be able to help Jason heal.

He draws his brother’s head down to his shoulder, before wrapping his arm around his waist. His hand finds Jason’s bony wrist and holds onto it, settling the grip lightly with his thumb pressed in against his pulse point. Pushed together like this, he can feel Jason’s life fluttering there like the wings of a butterfly, and the slow drawing in and pushing out of his rib cage against his own chest.

“Yeah.” Dick whispers, “Just crazy.” He pushes down the reflexive stab of disappointment he feels when no shove or sharply spoken insult is thrown at him for taking the liberty - not even when he he goes so far as to press a kiss against Jason’s temple.

Giving up any further hope of conversation, Dick reaches over for the TV remote where it’s been left on the arm of the couch. When in doubt, he could always rely on being a suitable distraction away from his problems.

“Come on, little wing. I think we have time for one more movie before bed, and you can’t tell me you didn’t miss Star Wars while you were gone.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Bruce returns to the Watchtower, it’s sudden, swift, and entirely without warning.

It’s Saturday afternoon, five days after Jason came careening back into their lives, and no school means that Tim has been able to escape Gotham to come visit them for most of the day, rather than just a couple of hours. A treat, even as Dick wonders how he’s continuing to explain his extended absences aboard the Watchtower to his friends back on Earth and among the Team. The day has passed lazily, with movies and the stolen opportunity for a workout thrown in. Since then Dick has been drifting, mostly staring into space for the better part of the past hour as he listens to Tim read. He’s caught entirely off guard when another’s thought suddenly intrudes into his.

 _Nightwing, you’ve got incoming._ Conner’s voice rings loud and clear in his head, and that can only mean two things. One: Miss Martian has returned, and the psychic link between the Team is now up and working again, and two: _Batman’s back and on his way up to you. He looks pretty pissed._

Dick jumps up from the breakfast bar at the news, shoving his stool back so hard that it actually falls over with a loud clang onto the floor.

“Dick?” Tim stopped reading at the noise, and now is looking in his direction quizzically. He must not have been included in the communication. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Tim, it’s…” Dick takes a deep breath. A little more warning would have been nice. “Bruce is back.”

_Acknowledged, Superboy. Thanks for the heads up._

Tim’s eyes widen, and he shoots a glance at Jason next to him. He’s holding onto the batarang again, turning the weapon over and over in his hands whilst paying no attention to what’s going on around him. “Oh, I… what should I do? Should I—”

“Keep reading to Jason. Keep him calm.” Dick says firmly, reaching for his domino and pressing it firmly into place over his eyes. “I’m going to meet B outside.”

He barely hears Tim’s acknowledgement as he strides to the door and out of his quarters into the hallway beyond. It’s devoid of any other people, which is good since Dick can’t risk trying to intercept him further afield and Bruce could have taken any one of a number of different routes up to the habitation levels. Instead he positions himself outside his own door like a guard, arms folded across his chest while he waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Bruce appears like a tempest on the horizon; a force of nature sweeping inland down the hallway toward him. Both his jaw and fists are clenched, betraying the high knot of tension his entire body has woven itself into.

Dick feels much the same way. Sick to his stomach and ready for an unpleasant conversation.

He pushes away from the wall and stands with his feet apart as soon as Bruce gets close, partially blocking the view of the door with his own body. He can’t just let him barge in there, not without making him understand just what it is they’re dealing with first. “Batman -”

“Move.” Bruce growls out.

Dick shakes his head, “I need to talk to you first. He’s—”

“I read your message. Black Canary told me the rest.”

“I figured.” Dick grimaces. “But B, you need to know, Jason’s not going to be the way you remember. What happened to him, it changed him. However he came back, he’s not the same. He’s—”

“Get out of my way and let me see my son before I make you move, Nightwing!”

Dick stiffens. He’s never seen Bruce quite like this before, not even after Jason died, when his rage and guilt were so powerful it became poisonous to himself and everyone around him. Bruce looks like a drowning man beneath the cowl, clinging to a lifeline and fighting desperately to keep his head above water.

“Okay!” He surrenders, “Okay. Just… just go easy, all right? Whatever suspicions you have, whatever assessments you want to make about where he came from or how he got here, we can discuss them later. Outside of his hearing. Please, Bruce...”

The use of his real name seems to reach something inside that wall of black kevlar and leather. Bruce pauses, then slowly dips his head down in silent acknowledgement. It’s enough for Dick, who steps back and keys his door open, taking a deep breath to steady himself before leading him inside.

Tim, doing as Dick asked, is still reading, but his words cut off the moment Bruce steps into the room. It’s not just him, the whole world seems to go silent as Bruce’s presence takes up a chunk of the tiny living space, his gaze impenetrable through the cowl as he zeroes in on Jason at once - at the second and third Robins sitting next to each other.

Then, just as the moment starts to stretch out into an unbearable eternity, Bruce speaks, his voice cracking on a single word. A name.

“ _Jason._ ”

And miracle of miracles, Jason actually looks up, responding to the sound of his own name like he never has before.

The father moves towards the son as if pulled by gravity, cape flaring out behind him as Bruce rips the cowl back from his head and crashes down onto his knees before Jason. Dick is peripherally aware of Tim scrambling out of the way and darting across the room to stand at his side, but mostly his gaze stays transfixed on the reunion playing out in front of him; an intruder on what feels like a private scene.

Bruce’s hand cups the side of Jason’s head, thumb pressing against the cheek that had once been shattered inwards by a blow from the Joker’s crowbar, before he’s hauling him up and forwards into his arms, dragging Jason into a bear hug that all but swallows the teenager from sight. Someone keens, a soft broken sound, and by the pitch alone Dick knows it cannot be Bruce.

He puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly, just for something to do with his own suddenly restless body. Jason never reacted like that for Dick, but he’s so pleased at seeing any kind of reaction from him at all that he can’t bring himself to be in any way envious.

Then, just as things seem to be going wonderfully right, they instead go horribly wrong.

Bruce abruptly goes rigid, accompanied by a sick sharp hitch to his breath that Dick knows he’s heard before. From other mouths and other voices: from too many victims over the years. Before he can move a shocking display of force sees Jason flying backwards from Bruce, his back hitting the carpet before he’s scrambling up on his hands, formerly dull eyes now wide with surprise and horror.

_Oh God._

Red trails from Jason’s fingers, staining the carpet. Dick tracks it, back from his hands to Bruce, just in time to see his mentor collapse backwards, his hand wrapped around the black metal shape of a batarang sticking out of his ribs, just below his heart through a gap in the armour.

The batarang Dick let Jason hold onto because it got a reaction out of him. Because he’d seemed attached to it, more than anything else.

Tim is the first one to move for once, rocketing forwards towards Bruce with a cry of concern. Doubtless, he means to stem the bloodflow, to give them time to call for help to get him to infirmary before the wound can become a fatal one. Meanwhile Dick, still stunned by the sudden violence from an unexpected source, is slower. He runs for Jason, with the intent of grabbing and restraining him before any further damage can be done. His brother is shaking, seemingly from the shock at his own actions, and suddenly Black Canary and the rest of the Team’s theories about Jason’s return don’t seem so farfetched at all.

“Easy! Easy, Jason.” He doesn’t want to hurt him. Not when he already seems so scared by the sight of the blood on his hands. Dick reaches for his wrist and the cuffs he keeps in his utility belt at the same time, but he’s slow. Too slow. He’s only just caught hold of Jason’s right hand when the dazed and horrified look in his brother’s eyes suddenly vanishes, only to be replaced by something harder and flatter. Something completely _empty._

Jason moves, with the kind of speed Dick never would have thought possible from observing him at every hour of the day and night during the past week. The lost, absent motion of his limbs is gone, replaced by deadly intent and precision as he slams his left fist so hard into his chin that Dick falls back onto the carpet, then opens that same fist to reveal the knockout spray he must have lifted from Bruce’s belt when he stabbed him hidden in his palm.

Instinct has Dick reaching for the escrima sticks on his thigh; his body moving to defend itself out of habit even as his mind is screaming _No!_ But it’s too late. Jason jumps on top of him, knees slamming into his stomach. The blow forces all the air out of Dick’s lungs, and when he reflexively inhales afterwards the spray is aimed directly into his now open mouth. It’s fast acting, and the first wave of dizziness is already hitting him by the time he starts to cough.

Someone shouts his name, Tim, it must be. Then there are other sounds, crashes and gasps, the thud of another body hitting the floor as Dick struggles to keep his eyes open.

He has to… has to call… has to _think_ so that -

Jason appears in his field of vision again. A tall blurred figure. He cocks his head, or seems to. Dick feels fingers in his hair. They draw his head up, then slam it back down against the floor.

It’s the last thing he remembers.

 

*

 

Jason is breathing heavily when the last of them goes down, hand shaking around the bo-staff he took from the boy in red.

The room is still and quiet. Still and quiet. Too quiet, but not. The wheezing sounds of pained breathing creep into his ears like worms as he shakes his head, digging into the soft tissues of his brain as he reaches to pull at his straggling hair until it hurts. He forgets about the blood on his fingers, growing darker and stickier the longer it lingers; smearing down the length of the staff when he lets it slide out of his hand and onto the floor with a clatter..

He wants to throw up. He wants to throw up, he wants -

The whimper is his own. No one else's’. He’s done what he was supposed to do. What he didn’t want to do. This moment is a brief reprieve; the next command already beats at the inside of his skull, ready to force itself out with or without his permission. It can’t be denied. It _won’t_ be denied. It’s written too deeply, carved into the very networks of his brain; cutting through the trenches of unseen scars hidden by bone and meat and hair.

There’s no time. He has to… he has to…

He stops and looks at the bodies around him. At the three superheroes unconscious on the floor. All still breathing, but one perhaps not for very long. There’s a lot of blood now, more than there was before, spreading in a pool beneath the man and his black cape. Jason whimpers again as he looks at him, and remembers the red stain on his hand. He knows his face. He knows all their faces, even the youngest; he misses the sound of his voice.

_What did I do?_

He starts to take a step towards them, then remains rocking forwards on his heel when the next order comes, swift and sudden and invasive, spoken by the same voice that guided him to the light. The voice that’s his own, but not his own: _Move_.

Calm steals over his body then. The fear and panic recedes like a wave from the shore. He knows what he has to do.

Inside the bedroom is a closet. Inside the closet are clothes; a spare copy of the black and blue uniform his bro - caretaker is wearing. Jason takes it from the hanger, shakes it out, and then methodically begins to strip out of the clothes he already has on before replacing them with the suit and zipping it up over his chest. It doesn’t fit right, too loose in some places, too tight in others, but he knows that’s not the point. It doesn’t have to fool anyone up close, only from a distance.

Next he goes to the bathroom. There are scissors in there. He opens the drawer to find them, then with one deft movement snips the white lock of hair from his forehead as close to the roots as he can manage before rolling up the uniform’s sleeve and turning the blades to his left arm. The small bump of what he needs is hidden by the thick twisted skin of a burn scar, invisible to anyone who doesn’t know what they’re looking for.

His breathing hitches when he cuts into his arm, slicing under his skin until he can work the computer chip free. It’s tiny, about the size of his smallest fingernail, and he’ll have to be careful not to lose it before he can accomplish the goal.

Jason rolls his sleeve back down over the wound without bothering to clean it. The black fabric will hide the blood well enough. Now he just needs the tools to complete his disguise.

Getting Nightwing’s boots, belt, and thigh holster off of him takes some effort, but he manages it, tugging and shoving at his limp limbs until they move the way he wants them to so that he can undo the straps and fasten them into place around his body. The twin sticks are an odd weight on his thigh, the boots too tight on his feet, but the belt, the belt feels right. He puts the chip into one of its compartments, where it will be safe until he needs to use it.

Taking the mask off is simpler than the rest, except for the way it exposes the face of the man beneath. Jason freezes for a moment, caught with the urge to touch and shake him awake, unsure why and how he’s asleep like that in the first place. He starts to reach for his shoulder, but then the pounding in his head returns until he lets the thought go. After pressing the mask into place over his face, he knows he’s ready to leave.

“Jason…”

He’s just shy of opening the door when that voice calls his name. Deep and desperate. He looks behind him, where Bru... where Bat… where the man he hurt the most is pushing himself up on his hands, pale from blood loss but with his teeth clenched against the pain.

“Jason stop… you don’t… you don’t have to do this…”

_You will allow no one to stop you. Allow no one to warn them what you’re here to do._

He turns around and walks towards him in his stolen boots, withdrawing his stolen weapons from his thigh and ignoring the pinching of his toes. The weight of the escrima feels good in his hands, familiar.

“Jason.” Batman says again as he draws closer, stepping over Robin to do so. The heavy baritone of his voice touches something deep inside his battered soul and aching head. “Listen to me. I know you’re still in there. Whoever’s done this to you, we can fix it. But you have to fight it now. _Fight_ it, Jason.”

Sweat drips down his temple as he raises the stick in his right hand, and keeps it there. Keeps it there, hesitating, shaking. For a moment all he can see is red, a pale figure in purple and green raising an object not dissimilar to this one above his own head.

Then Batman reaches for the comm unit in his cowl...

… and Jason brings the escrima the stick down.

 

*

 

Not far from the scene of the carnage, Barbara tightens her grip on the folder under her arm as she strides out of the Zeta tube and through the scattered heroes currently occupying the Watchtower’s atrium towards the elevators on the other side of the room. The larger League has returned from its mission in deep space, and she waves her hand in recognition at half a dozen familiar faces, though she can’t take the time to stop and talk to any of them.

Bruce is back, and of course Dick hadn’t thought to message her. She’s not surprised, considering how occupied he’s been with Jason, but she’d thought Tim at least might have taken the initiative in his stead. But no, she had to hear the message from Artemis instead.

Sometimes, she really does think the women of the Team are the only ones who manage to keep their heads together in a crisis.

Reaching the sliding doors, Barbara presses the button to summon the next available elevator. Her foot taps impatiently on the floor while she waits for it to arrive, and she can’t resist checking the folder she holds one last time either.

It feels painfully thin for what amounts to a week’s worth of work, but so far it’s all the answers they have on the mystery of Jason Todd’s plight. There’s the analysis of the coffin and the dirt samples from around his grave, alongside glossy 5R photos depicting the mess of broken wood and, more gruesomely, torn off fingernails they’d found within the soil, confirmed by DNA analysis to belong to Jason. The accounts of the cemetery workers are in here too, typed up neatly by her own hand, as are those of the homeless children who’d been willing to share their memories with Tigress and Aqualad about his apparently brief time on the streets. Most of which Dick already has digitally copies of to share with Bruce, but Barbara knows from experience that having a physical version to hand can feel more satisfying - especially when it came to such a sensitive subject.

Something you could hold in yours hands; something you could write on, tear and crumple into a ball to throw against the nearest wall when necessary. Something you could destroy, when the lines of words describing the hitherto unknown suffering of a loved one became too much to bear.

Bruce will need that. They all needed that.

But there’s something new too. Something that Dick doesn’t already have in his arsenal ready to pass on to Bruce as proof of their good work: hospital records for a John Doe matching Jason’s description. After days of searching, she’d finally found them only this morning, haphazardly locked away inside a musty cabinet in the Huntington Convalescent Home’s filing room, with not a single digital copy available on the system. An absence that was almost glaring once she noticed it.

He’d been brought into the hospital two years ago in October, on the night before the morning the cemetery workers found the earth of his gravesite disturbed. A young couple had almost hit him with their car before calling an ambulance. He’d been covered in mud, wearing a burial suit, with extensive injuries to both his head and body as if he’d been both beaten with a blunt object and caught in an explosion. The doctors had done their best to patch him up, but he’d slipped into a coma immediately afterwards, soon to be moved out of the hospital and into Huntington where others languished in similar condition; out of sight and out of mind. At least until he’d disappeared one day, with not one person having a clue as to how he’d managed to get out.

It had made Barbara sick to read it, though not as sick as she had been when she’d noted the exact location where he’d been found. Twelve miles out from the cemetery; far enough that the standard perimeter of the police’s search zone had completely missed the place he’d come from.

So close and yet so damn far. It was a black comedy of errors, one unfortunate coincidence after another, and they still didn’t know how Jason had come back to life or where he’d been since then.

The elevator doors open and she slams the folder shut before stepping inside, only to find herself in familiar company.

“I saw you come aboard on the Watchtower’s roster.” Artemis - or Tigress as she’s dressed now, smiles tightly at her. “Thought I might ride up there with you. Lend some moral support.”

“I’m probably not the one who needs it, but thanks.” Barbara bows her head gratefully as the doors shut and she hits the button for Dick’s level. “Any clue how he’s taken it?”

“Noooot really.” Artemis winces. “Conner saw him come in. Said he talked to Black Canary for about a minute before storming upstairs. No one’s heard a peep out of them since. That was almost thirty minutes ago.”

“Great.” She sighs, mentally fortifying herself for a trying time ahead. “Just as I expected then.”

“I’m sure Nightwing’s handling it.”

Barbara smiles wryly, “At least you’re confident.”

“Someone around here has to be.” Artemis replies, smiling back. The elevator doors open again, and they step out together onto the habitation level. “You got the hospital records?”

“Everything I could find.” Turning left down the hallway, Barbara leads the way towards the set of rooms put aside for the Team after Mount Justice was destroyed. “I can’t believe how… I don’t know if this is the right word, but how convenient it all is? Where he was found, the cover up by the cemetery workers. His disappearance out of the hospital most of all.” She reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Then there’s still over a year of time to account for his whereabouts. It feels wrong, all of it. And I don’t know if that’s just my frustration over missing the clues or if there actually is something more sinister going on here.”

“Hey, we’ll find out. Especially now Batman’s back, right? World’s Greatest Detective, there’s no way he’ll leave any stone unturned.” Artemis tries to assure her, pursing her lips as they stop outside Dick’s door.

She sighs before reaching to press the buzzer. “I hope so.”

They wait. One minute, then two minutes pass. The door doesn’t open, and Barbara frowns before reaching to press the buzzer again. Making sure to keep the button suppressed a few seconds longer for good measure.

When still no one answers, Artemis turns her head to look at her. “Maybe they’re just… really, really preoccupied?”

“Maybe.”

She doesn’t sound convinced by her own words, and neither is Barbara. After a third and final press of the button - as well as additional knocking, yields nothing, she lifts her hand up to her ear to try and reach Dick through their comms.

“Batgirl to Nightwing, are you there? Nightwing, please respond.”

She’s using the private channel the Bats have between them, so Artemis is left out of the communication, not that there’s anything to hear. Barbara can see her own fears start to take root on the other woman’s face when she repeats herself a second time, adding an additional, “Robin. Batman, this is Batgirl. Please come in.”

Artemis’ fingers twitch next to her thigh like she wants to reach for her sword. “They’re not responding?”

“No, they…” she purses her lips. Silence from Dick’s quarters was one thing, but over the comms? There’s no way that means anything but trouble. “We need to get in there, now.”

“I’ll call the control room to open the locks. Try M’gann, she might be able to pick up on whatever’s going on with them.” Artemis advises before reaching for her own comm, and Barbara nods

_M’gann?_

It takes a few seconds to get a response, during which Barbara remembers that M’gann has only just come back from a week long mission to reunite with Conner, and she prays that she’s not interrupting anything, but they don’t have the time to be considerate. Her gut is screaming at her now that something is wrong, and that if they don’t get into the room soon, it will only get worse.

_Yes, Batgirl?_

M’gann sounds more tired than annoyed, and Barbara barrels forwards with her concerns without another thought. There’ll be time for apologies later, if and when they know they’re all right. _We can’t reach Nightwing on the comms. Or Batman and Robin. I need you to try and find out where they are._

_Hang on._

Barbara appreciates that M’gann doesn’t question her, or even ask for an explanation before doing as she asks. But her apprehension grows by the second as she waits for the Martian to complete her mental sweep. Artemis is talking ever more urgently into her comm, but a flicker of her eyes tells Barbara she can hear the exchange as well.

 _I can’t feel them, none of them._ M’gann eventually says, sounding worried. _No… wait, I…_ There’s a longer pause, then: _BATGIRL, YOU NEED TO GET IN THERE NOW!_

The door clicks open just as Barbara reaches for an explosive, and she and Artemis waste no time in launching themselves forwards into the room with their weapons drawn.

“Oh no…”

They’re here, all of them. Down and out on the ground, but at least Dick and Tim only seem to be unconscious. Bruce on the other hand...

 _We need medical support in here!_ She calls to M’gann, before tearing at her belt for the supplies she keep there in case of an emergency. There’s a lot of blood on the floor, and when she rolls Batman over she gasps at the sight of the stab wound that’s penetrated through his armour and into his chest before pressing a bandage against the wound. On the other side of the room, Artemis is checking over Tim and Dick, before trying to shake the latter awake.

“Nightwing! Nightwing, come on, wake up!” She looks around the room when her shouting fails to rouse him, “Wait… where’s Jason?”

Barbara shakes her head, fully focused on trying to keep Bruce alive. “I don’t know.” His breathing is laboured, and the exposed skin of his face pale and clammy from blood loss. She pushes up the cowl, only to find a tremendous bruise forming on his temple from where he must have been hit by a blunt object. Something like an escrima stick, or… her gaze tracks across the floor.

Or a bo-staff.

Tim’s favoured weapon is abandoned next to Dick, and there’s blood smeared along the metal, as well as on a familiar looking batarang closer to Bruce. Keeping one hand pressed down against the wound, Barbara reaches over to pick it up, and right on cue, that’s when Tim wakes up.

“Jason…” he says groggily.

“Robin!”

Artemis goes to help him to his feet after shifting Dick into the recovery position - who Barbara belatedly notices is missing his weapons, belt, and boots. Tim accepts her help, teeth gritted as he climbs to his feet. His next words are everything Barbara feared they would be, “It… it was Jason.”

“Jason… how?”

Tim nods, then winces, visibly swaying as Artemis helps him over to the couch. “I don’t know. He just… he saw Bruce and it was like…” he sinks down onto the couch, “Like he became a different person suddenly.” His hands go to his head as Artemis and Barbara share a fearful glance between them. “He moved so _fast_. I couldn’t stop him.”

Barbara curses. Black Canary, Superboy… they were all of them right to be concerned. “We need to put out an alert. He can’t have left the Watchtower yet. There’s a still a chance we can—”

The lights flicker ominously above them.

“... find him.”

 

*

 

The vent pops off the wall to hang by a single hinge. From its depths, Jason slides out into the storeroom, sinking quietly down onto his haunches until he’s sure no one heard him land in here. There’s no sound on the other side of the door when he presses his ear to the metal, but he still keeps his hand on the escrima sticks at his thigh when he opens it.

He feels calm, floating in a dream as he walks towards the atrium and the vast view of space beyond the glass. His belt does not feel noticeably lighter without the computer chip in it, but his head does. It praises him for a job well done, and now there is only one last goal to fulfill before he runs out of time.

_Escape._

Much of what was Jason Todd was lost in the Joker’s beating, and what the clown hadn’t knocked out of him, death and his subsequent resurrection had suppressed as a result of his shock and horror. But many things remained intact in the ravaged networks of his brain: an intricate knowledge of the layout of the Watchtower was just one of them.

He moves calmly. Walking with purpose, not running, towards the Zeta tube. He remembers that too. People look at you if you run, ignore you when you walk. Someone told him that, it was one of the first lessons he learned when it came to disguises. Back when… back when…

 _Red. Red Suit. **His** suit. And joy. Joy as he flew across the city streets below him, following a larger shadow who _ —

He stumbles across the open floor, reaching up to press a hand to his aching head. The ugly line of a scar underneath his hair bumps against the pads of his fingers, and he’s lost, momentarily forgetting where he is and what it is he’s supposed to be doing. At least until a voice interrupts the pain in his head.

“Whoa there, Nightwing, are you all right?”

He freezes, then turns. Red hair (the colour red, always) and a red suit. A domino mask like his own. But the arms are bare, and a bow is slung across his shoulder. The man has a serious face, but now the concern is turning to suspicion, and then shock.

“Wait… you’re not...“

The lights flicker. He punches, then drops down to sweep the man’s legs out from under him while he’s distracted before bolting for the Zeta tube directly ahead. The sound of his feet hitting the floor is too loud, like drumbeats in the dark. Echoing and cacophonous. Flinching, he shies away from the sound, saving himself from the arrow that so nearly clips his shoulder in the process.

“Hey, get back here! Stop him!” The redhead is yelling, clambering to his feet as he pulls out another arrow from his quiver and gives chase.

But the Zeta tube ahead of him is already lighting up, and this time the words come easier. Far easier than they did, “Robin, B-13!”

He throws an explosive charge from Nightwing’s belt behind him, and this time when that glorious golden light bursts into being he’s ready for it.

It spits him out into the phone box. Out onto Gotham’s streets from whence he came. It’s daylight here now, and he freezes at the feeling of the sun’s warmth hitting his face, stunned by its radiance. He made it, he’s here, and now…

Now…

A screech of tyres catches his attention. There’s a van at the end of the alley, and the door on its side slides open under his watch, spilling out two men in dark clothing, and one woman.

The men have guns in their hands, and they raise them up in his direction. He reaches for the escrima sticks again in response, but suddenly the woman is stepping forwards, knocking their hands down. “Idiots! Can’t you see he’s the one we’re here for?” And she keeps walking towards him, the sunlight gleaming in her chestnut hair. Her eyes are green, kind and smiling as she reaches out a hand towards him. “It’s all right, Jason. It’s all right, come with me now.”

He knows her voice.

His legs unlock from their fixed position, and suddenly he’s stumbling again, half collapsing into her arms as she guides his head to her shoulder. He’s shaking as his head spins, splitting open with thoughts and memories and _blood_.

He makes a sound and she shushes him, even as she draws him back down the alley towards the van and the waiting men. “That’s it.” She says calmly, the lilting edges of her accent catching in his ears while her fingers run through his hair. “You’ve done well, Jason. It’s all right now, you need only—”

She looks away from him. The sound of metal doors flipping open cut off her voice.

“What the — you there, stop!” He doesn’t raise his head from her shoulder, but he recognises the voice as belonging to the archer who chased him on the other side of the doorway.

His handler is unperturbed. She responds calmly, continuing to bundle him into the van. “Destroy the Zeta tube exit. Make sure he doesn’t follow us.” She orders, and one of the men in the van takes out something bigger than a rifle from a case in its interior while his compatriots fire their guns to stop the hero’s advance. The weapon has a bulbous head, and instinct tells him to shut his eyes and cover his ears when it fires.

The roar of the explosion is still loud, but then the door of the van shuts, and the woman is touching his hair again, humming something soothing as the engine rumbles and they pull away.

It’s dark here, and there’s no more voice pushing him to follow its orders. Grateful for its passing, Jason closes his eyes and loses himself in the sound of her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes at the end this time. So when I initially conceived the idea for this story, it was with two scenes in mind. The first was the opening of Jason running for the Zeta tube and collapsing in Dick's arms. The second was the scene that happens here where he stabs Bruce, and the rest of the plot came about as I sought to tie these two scenes together in a single narrative (you can probably also see now why I decided not to do this story for my DCU Big Bang).
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this (perhaps not unexpected with the tags) twist. Lots more still to come XD


	5. Chapter 5

Dick wakes up to the sensation of weightlessness; brain sluggish and slow. He feels like he’s floating, body outside of his control as he tries to convince his limbs to move, his eyes to open. There’s a dull ache at the back of his head, like a large and livid bruise cushioning his skull.

 _Shit_ , he thinks almost dreamily, _What happened?_

Then his mind catches up to his senses, and he remembers.

Bruce. Jason. The batarang and blood on the floor. The world tearing itself apart from reason before he blacked out under the weight of his younger brother’s fist slamming his head back.

Adrenaline spikes through Dick, heart pounding in his chest as his head continues to throb. His eyes fly open as he tries to sit up, fingers scrabbling at the cotton sheet underneath him. The world resolves itself into bright fluorescent light, white walls and a ceiling. He gropes fuzzily for an inkling of familiarity with his surroundings, but before he can reach any solid conclusion, there are hands pushing down on his arms.

“Easy, Dick!” Tim’s voice filters into his ears, a second before his youngest brother’s face appears above him. “Easy! It’s okay, you’re all right!”

“... Tim?” he croaks, then swallows at the dry sound of his voice. Dick reaches up, catching hold of Tim’s bicep. “What… where am I? What happened?”

Tim winces. There’s a bandage wrapped around his head, stark white against his dark hair. “Gotham. Leslie Thompkins clinic.”

“Leslie’s…” Dick’s eyes widen, he pushes Tim back, attempting to sit up once again. This time Tim doesn’t stop him. “How long was I out?” He was on the Watchtower before, to go from there down to Earth… fear stirs in his gut. “Bruce?”

“He’s alive.” Tim confirms, “And he’s going to be okay. He’s in surgery right now; that’s why we’re here. No one on the Watchtower has the same expertise Leslie has.” He swallows, “As to your other question, about six hours. Turns out pairing the knockout spray with a blow to the head is a pretty effective combination. We were all really worried about you, but Leslie said there was no damage to your skull. Or your brain.”

 _Sure doesn’t feel that way._ Dick bites the truth back under the ever favourable lie, “I’m all right. How about you? Practicing for Halloween?”

Tim doesn’t smile at his joke. He touches his fingers delicately to the bandage, “I’m fine. I woke up ages ago, back on the tower when Barbara and Artemis found us.”

Dick winces at that revelation, and the pain in his head. Whatever drugs Leslie has him on, they’re not enough. “... and Jason?”

This time it’s Tim’s turn to wince. “Gone. Things were… chaotic for a while there.”

Dick swallows thickly. He suspected, but had hoped...

“How chaotic?” He pushes himself back so he has the headboard of the bed to lean against. “Tim, what _happened_?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you yet.” He replies dubiously. “You just woke up and—”

“What. Happened.”

“I can answer that.” Both their heads turn towards the doorway at the new voice intruding on their conversation. Barbara stands in the doorway, a pair of styrofoam cups clutched in her gloved hands.

“Babs…”

“Morning, Boy Wonder.” she says quietly, before walking into the room. One of the cups is handed over to Tim, who accepts it gratefully, before the other is set down on the small wooden cabinet next to Dick’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” he lies, “Barbara, what happened? I need to know. I need to—”

“You need to drink some water.” Barbara replies unsympathetically. She reaches for the jug that’s also there on top of the cabinet and pours some into a glass before forcing it into his hand. “Hydration first, then talk. Else Leslie will have my head, and I don’t want her yelling at us anymore than she already has.”

Dick opens his mouth to protest, but she glares at him and he sighs before sipping at the water. “Happy?”

“It’s a start.”

Tim shifts uneasily at the side of Dick’s bed. “Do you mind if I…?”

Barbara’s expression softens, “Go take a break, Tim. It’s all right. Call your dad if you need to.”

“Thanks.” He casts a sympathetic look at Dick before standing up and walking out, cape flaring behind him and almost catching in the door as it shuts.

As soon as he’s gone Barbara takes his chair, sitting down in it primly at first, before — with an exhausted sigh — she lets her shoulders slump down and her back bow forward as she rests her arms across her knees.

“That bad, huh?” Dick whispers.

“Bad enough.” Barbara admits, lifting her face back up to look at him. Her teeth worry her lip, and Dick has a small flash of memory to her doing the exact same thing when they were at Gotham Academy together, fretting over an upcoming exam. “Bruce is going to be okay. Tim told you that, right?”

“Yeah,” he manages, “Yeah he did. He said he’s in surgery.”

She nods, “Leslie and Alfred are taking care of him. We were lucky, we got to him just in time. Leslie said if the wound had been an inch or two higher, or if we’d found you even a few minutes later…”

Dick’s stomach churns. He places the glass down before he drops it. “How long?”

“Dick—”

“ _How long_?”

“About half an hour.”

Half an hour. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes in which Bruce lay on the floor and bled, with no one helping him.

The thought makes Dick feel so sick, and so angry, that his hands start to shake. He clenches them into fists to try and hide it, but knows Barbara notices anyway. “This is my fault.”

“Dick, no.” She shakes her head, reaching over and placing her hand on top of his. “You couldn’t have seen this coming.”

“What happened?” He demands, ignoring her attempt at comfort. “After Jason knocked us out, what happened?”

“We’re not sure of all the details yet.” she sighs, “We know Jason took one of your spare suits, as well as your boots and escrima sticks. He used them as a disguise to move around the Watchtower undetected, at least from a distance. After he left you, Roy — Red Arrow — was the next person to see him. He was in the Atrium, heading for the Zeta tubes. That was about the same time Artemis and I found you.”

Dick digests this with a further curdling in his belly. Yes, from a distance at least, Jason could feasibly pass for him in costume. A little too skinny, his hair a little curly, and the white streak would definitely give him away but…

“And then?” he prompts her.

“Roy realised it wasn’t you. He said Jason stumbled, so he went over to talk to him and realised… there was a brief fight. Jason managed to knock him down before escaping from one of the tubes to Gotham. Roy went after him, but…”

“But?”

“There was someone waiting for Jason on the other side.” Barbara’s hand stays resting on his. The slight squeeze she gives his fingers tells Dick to brace himself. “Roy’s not entirely sure, he didn’t get a good look, but he thinks it was Talia al Ghul.”

For a moment, the whole world seems to tilt under Dick, threatening to spill him out of the bed and onto the floor.

“Talia al Ghul?!” he blurts out, loud enough to cause himself to wince at the resulting sharp pain in his head. “The League is behind this?!”

“It’s looking that way. She had some men with her; they shot a rocket launcher at Red and the Zeta tube exit in Gotham, destroying it.” Barbara says, chewing her lip again. “Roy tried following them afterwards, but the explosion slowed him down and they were in a van. He couldn’t keep up.”

“Tracer?” Dick asks.

She shakes her head.

“Shit,” he whispers, “Shit, shit shit…”

“That’s not all. After Jason escaped, the Watchtower lost power for almost ten minutes. Some kind of virus — it could have just been to stop us from being able to follow him, but we can’t be certain until a full diagnostic has been run. Thankfully our backup system got the power online again quickly, but… it could have been bad, Dick. It could have been really bad. What Jason did—”

“It wasn’t him.”

“Dick…” she gives him a measured look, but he shakes his head.

“It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been him. Not really. Maybe they used mind control, or some kind of manipulation… you didn’t see the way he _changed_ , Babs, like… like someone flipped a switch in his head when he saw Bruce.” Dick leans forward, resting his head in his hands. “Jason wouldn’t do that. Not by his own will.”

She folds her arms across her chest. “Tim said something similar. That Jason seemed to become a totally different person suddenly.”

“You can’t fake catatonia like that. The damage on the x-rays we took—”

“I’m not doubting you, Dick. We all saw the way Jason was while he was with us. I just — what are you doing?”

Dick doesn’t stop at her words, pushing himself away from the headboard and swinging his legs out of the bed, flinching a little at the cold feel of the tile against the bare soles of his feet. “I need to fix this. I need to find him.” he stands up, legs still a bit wobbly underneath him as he grips the cabinet for support. “We can start by listing known League bases in or around Gotham.”

There’s a bag on the floor next to the bed. Spare clothes, Dick thinks, probably brought by Alfred. Hopefully there’s a uniform among them. He reaches towards it, but Barbara gets in his way first.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve been checked over and given the go ahead by Leslie.”

“It was just the knockout spray, Barbara. I’m fine.” He argues, trying to get around her.

She keeps shuffling her feet to block him. “That bump on the back of your head begs to differ. I’ve got this, Dick. The Justice League’s got this. You need to take your time and—”

“This is my fault!” He shouts before he can stop himself, head pounding. He wavers, and suddenly finds himself gripping Barbara’s shoulders as he looks back at her — her blue eyes that are visible through the stern framing of her cowl, now wide and a little shocked. “It’s my fault. I looked after him. I spent all that time with him. Everyone warned me but… I should’ve seen it coming, Babs, I should’ve…”

“Dick, no…”

“He almost killed _Bruce_.”

His voice cracks on Bruce’s name, which is all the signal Barbara needs. Her arms are suddenly around Dick’s shoulders, holding him close. “I know. I know.”

He tries to resist at first, tries to push away so that he can continue on his path out of here, but after a few seconds the fight goes out of him as all the terrifying weight of what happened impacts inside his chest like a ricocheting cannonball. Dick’s fingers clutch at the back of Barbara’s suit underneath her cape, his face presses against the side of her neck as his shoulders shake and her fingers come to rest in his hair, lightly stroking it. He makes a sound like a dying animal as the tears spill forth.

How long they stand there, holding each other, Dick doesn’t rightly know, but when he does eventually pull back his face feels hot and swollen, his throat raw. If he weren’t so determined to act he could probably collapse right back down on the bed.

“It’s gotta be us, Barb,” he says to her as she meets his gaze. “He’s family, and this was an attack on Bruce; it’s got to be us who finds him. I can’t… we can’t lose him again. If Bruce were awake right now—”

Barbara draws in a deep breath, “He’d say the same thing, I know.” She shakes her head. “You two really are too alike for your own good.”

“This is our responsibility.” Dick says seriously to her. “My responsibility.”

“You can’t always hold the weight of the world on your shoulders alone, Dick.”

“I know, that’s why I have you.”

She blinks, then sighs before rolling her eyes. “All right. All right, you win. But we do this together, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream otherwise.” he nods, and this time when Dick turns away from her she doesn’t stop him from reaching for the bag.

 

* * *

 

Despite his determination to get out of the clinic and start tracking down Jason, before Dick can actually leave he knows he needs to see Bruce. Needs to confirm for himself at least visually that he’s alive and going to be okay.

Luckily, by the time he’s done getting dressed and managed to walk his way out of the room under Barbara’s supervision, Bruce is out of surgery. He follows Batgirl’s lead to another of the rooms at the back of Leslie’s clinic — the ones that exist almost solely for them at this point — and gets his first look at Bruce from the doorway as Alfred and Leslie finish wheeling his bed into place.

Dick has seen Bruce injured almost more times than he can remember at this point. Even near the edge of death a few times. But somehow it feels worse on this occasion. Possibly because of the means by which he came to be hurt.

Bruce is pale against the bedspread, oxygen mask over his face, lines running into his arms from a IV drip and blood bag. There’s a sheet pulled up high over his chest, almost up to his chin, hiding the wound that landed him in this state. A giant bruise covers one side of his face, and Dick clenches his teeth together when he realises he doesn’t know where it came from. He only saw Jason stab Bruce, nothing else.

“Oh, Master Dick! You’re up.” Alfred says, turning around after adjusting the sheets over Bruce. “Thank goodness.”

“Hey Al,” Dick says, pulling a threadbare smile onto his face. “Leslie.”

“Dick,” she greets him tiredly. “You should be in bed still.”

“Sorry. You know how it is; things to do, people to see.” He swallows, eyes still focused on Bruce, “... how is he?”

“Lucky.” Leslie answers him, glancing down at Bruce’s face before crossing the room. “Just the same as you are, young man. Three head injuries and a stabbing; if my hair wasn’t white already, it would be now.”

Dick winces at her tone of voice, but submits to her examination as she pulls a small penlight out of her pocket and shines it in his eyes, causing him to regret not putting the spare domino mask that was in the bag on yet. “He’ll be okay, then?”

“Pulse is strong.” Alfred says from beside the bed, patting the top of the heart rate monitor as one would a faithful old hound. “He’ll be out of commission for a while, but he will live.”

“Good.” Dick manages, blinking white spots out of his eyes once Leslie is done. “That’s good.” He swallows, “Alfred, I’m—”

“If you dare apologise to me, Master Dick, I shall kick you out of this room right now.” Alfred chides him, gently but firmly. “This was a calculated attempt to strike at us by using someone we deeply cared about, lost and mourned.” His mouth pulls into a tight seam for a moment before he continues, “The most important thing we do now is move forward.”

The words are meant well, but just like Barbara’s attempt earlier they do little to assuage Dick’s sense of guilt. It’s a hard solid lump of rock sitting in his chest, weighing down his insides, and the sensation only intensifies the longer he looks at Bruce. Dick swallows.

“You’re right, and that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to find the League of Assassins, and Jason. We’re going to bring him home. For real this time.” He steps forward towards the bed, “Can I…?”

“Of course.” Alfred says somberly. Leslie steps aside to let Dick through with her usual ‘harrumph’ of displeasure, but for once says nothing else to stop him from going ahead with his plans. She must know he won’t listen, this time more than any other. Not while their family is at stake.

Dick reaches the bedside and looks down at Bruce for a long moment. He’s vaguely aware of everyone trying and failing not to watch him — including Barbara near the door. Finally, he reaches down and touches Bruce’s hand, squeezing it in his own gloved one. “You’ll call me when he wakes up, right?”

“The very moment of, and not a second after.” Alfred promises him. He touches Dick’s shoulder, clasping it meaningfully.

“Okay,” he says. Dick closes his eyes, then opens them before forcing himself to let go. He steps away from the bed, away from Alfred and towards the door. Barbara meets his gaze. “Then let’s get going; we’ve got work to do.”

 

* * *

 

_Elsewhere_

Damian watches carefully as his mother ties the bandage around Jason’s arm, redoing the earlier job done by their medics after the successful reclamation of his brother from his mission.

They’re sitting in the solar together; his mother’s favourite room in her wing of this particular mansion. It has tall, wide windows that look out onto the garden, and in the late afternoon the sun shines in through them, bathing the entire room in golden light. Sometimes, when he has earned it, his mother will tell him stories here. Of Alexander and the other great conquerors; men he was born to emulate, and eventually surpass.

Today, however, the sun does not shine inside the solar. Outside the sky is heavily overcast, threatening rain, so instead it’s grim and grey. A fitting reflection, Damian thinks, of the atmosphere inside the room.

“You should leave that task to the servants,” His grandfather speaks, eyeing them from his position by the windows. He has a glass of wine in his hand, dark and red as congealed blood. “It is beneath you.”

“Jason has done both us and your cause a great service, Father,” Talia answers calmly, though her face is stern with conviction, “For that he has earned my personal attention.”

Next to Damian, Jason is quiet. Which is the norm for as long as Damian has known him. He never speaks, only sometimes makes small, incomprehensible sounds. The difference today, though, is that Jason is trembling finely, body wracked with small shivers, and his fingers are clenched in his lap rather than lax.

Damian resists the urge to reach over and place his hand on Jason’s arm to still him. His grandfather has never approved of his mother’s attachment to Jason, and would approve of Damian’s even less if he ever got wind of how deep it went. He stays still, only sparing Jason a sideways glance as he maintains his straight backed posture, as is proper for someone of his breeding and rank.

His grandfather snorts, “The boy is witless; he carried out the programmed commands Psimon put into that broken mind of his, nothing more.”

“But it is only by merit of who he is that we succeeded.” Talia replies, finishing with the bandage. She brushes her fingers gently over Jason’s arm, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes briefly before standing. “You cannot deny that.”

Ra’s gaze narrows, then he shrugs slightly, taking another sip of his wine. “No, I suppose not. Those idiot aliens’ blunder has been our boon. By now the Justice League will be solidly convinced our attack was meant solely to cripple their station and kill one of their own. And with the Detective down and his cohorts distracted in searching for the boy, they will not notice the accomplishment of our true objective.”

His mother’s lips purse briefly with displeasure before she smoothes it away. “Our own connection to the heart of their operation.”

“Indeed.”

Damian feels a small thrill as always to be allowed to sit in on such discussions, even if he is not invited to voice his own opinion to them yet. It is a recent honour; a sign that he is growing, soon to take part in active leadership of the League.

“They will come for him.” Talia voices, glancing down at Jason again.

“Yes.”

“And when they do…?” She prompts his grandfather again.

Ra’s looks back at her, “They will be allowed to take him. Along with the victory of dismantling one of our bases, it will satisfy their need for retribution.”

“But what Jason holds in his head—”

“You are worried what information they might pry from him?” Ra’s asks, amused.

“They have their own telepaths.”

“Indeed, that is why Psimon will be returning to us shortly, to remove anything we do not wish them to know permanently from the boy’s mind.”

Damian tenses a little, turning his head to Jason, who typically shows no sign of reaction.

Talia frowns, “And will he fix the boy too? Now that we no longer need him.”

“Fix?” Ra’s raises an eyebrow. “No, Daughter. There is no fixing him. Psimon confirmed on his last venture into Jason’s psyche that the issue is not merely psychological; it is the physical damage to his brain that keeps him in this state. Against that, even a telepath is useless.”

“But surely he could still do something to improve Jason’s condition.”

The Demon’s Head waves his hand. “Let the Martians worry over that. I will not expand more time or energy on a resource that has no further use to me. Nor should you. You have become far too attached to the boy during your tenure as his caretaker, and it is past time for that distraction to end.”

“Yes, of course, Father.” Talia bows her head. “But until they come for him—”

This time Ra’s rolls his eyes, “I suppose if it pleases you. Now, I have other things I must attend to. Mind you keep up with your other duties as well. Damian,”

Damian sits up sharply at his name, “Yes, Grandfather?”

Ra’s piercing gaze examines him, “Your tutors have commended your latest progress, but you can still do better. Next time I speak to them I expect to hear nothing but praise.”

He swallows a little, “Of course, Grandfather. I will not disappoint you.”

“See that you do not.”

The door thuds shut behind him as Ra’s sweeps from the room. For some time, silence is the only thing that fills the air. Talia stands pensively by the window, arms folded, watching drops of water hit the glass as the clouds give up their burder and rain begins to fall.

Damian weighs his next question carefully. “Mother?”

She looks back at him, the long fall of her hair like silk down her back. “Yes, my son?”

“Is it true Jason cannot be healed?”

Her mouth twists for a moment, “By no means that your grandfather is willing to employ.”

He thinks about that for a minute. About everything his mother did not say in her choice of words. “How long until he leaves us?”

“I do not know. It depends on how quickly the heroes act.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, Talia leaves the window to cross to him. “I know you have become fond of Jason, Damian; so have I. But in time you must leave all such childish sentiments behind if you are to grow to be the man you were born to be. For the Demon’s Head attachments are weakness, nothing more.”

As always, Damian feels a thrill at being reminded of his destiny. He will become a great man, a leader. The future ruler of the world. Then, as his mother has promised, she will teach him of his father, and allow him to meet the man himself. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good,” she nods to him, then her expression softens slightly. “Now, I would hear you practice your English. A true assassin must be able to blend in to any culture he encounters. Choose a book and read; American accent.”

Damian slips off his seat beside Jason to cross to the shelf in the corner. He knows she means for him to speak aloud so that not only can she hear the words, but so too will Jason. An indirect kindness, as much as she ever offers him.

But still, despite understanding it is weakness, he can’t help but feel sadness at the knowledge Jason will leave them permanently soon. Worse, that he will always be as he is now, despite there existing the means by which to correct that.

It’s a traitorous thought, and Damian turns his mind away from it as soon as it occurs, resuming his seat by Jason and focusing his attentions on reading instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the next one won't be so long in coming >.> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](http://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


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